


baby and daddy (tangled in rosegolds)

by cheshirebottom



Series: The Del Rey Series [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: American Harry, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, Degenerate Beauty Queen Harry, Engaged Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Established Relationship, Famous Harry, Fluff and Angst, French Louis, Harry in panties ayyee, Jealousy, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Millionaire Louis, Older Louis, Painter Louis, Rich Harry, Rimming, Singer Harry, Top Louis Tomlinson, Valeria the maid will still be here too! yay!, Younger Harry, indie singer harry, smut of course, there will still be tomlinshaw friendship in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-14 22:48:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirebottom/pseuds/cheshirebottom
Summary: this is baby loves when daddy gets high's second book;finally lived his dream to be the coney island queen, harry embarks on a brand new journey as he climbs up the ladder of success in his career as an indie singer; engaged with his fiance, french painter louis tomlinson, who happens to have signed with a new contract into painting a very different muse this time around, may or may not end up putting a damper in that mission altogether.[alternatively as: louis is a famous painter now and his team wants a female model as his subject and harry just wants the world to know he's getting married to a man beyond his years.]"daddy goes to far places but daddy makes up for it."





	1. My Boyfriend's Back And He's Cooler Than Ever ♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> hey! so basically, i have decided to make a book two for my fic _baby loves when daddy gets high_ , bc i missed writing about harry embodying lana's ungodly lyrics. esp now that she's got some new songs and im just aldadnsndknd about it - i am so, so, so in love with her albums that i just couldn't resist.
> 
> if you haven't read my fic _baby loves when daddy gets high_ , this one right here might not make sense to you, so i suggest that you read that first before this :)
> 
> heads up: i have no betas for this yet, so if there are any mistakes along the way, sorry in advance.  
> another thing: if any of you haven't realized, on the first book, the other boys weren't so much as mentioned, right. it was more about louis and harry, louis' adopted daughter and ex-husband phil. well, in this one, zayn, niall and liam will now be mentioned often, unlike before, so perhaps that's something to look forward to :)
> 
> as for the french translations, pretty much, i have three lovely french fluent speakers who did them for the dialogues in this fan fic. you may say hi to them and follow them, perhaps? they're really good and quite professional :)
> 
>  **noor** \- Insta: noorehtmua and Twitter: noormuaa :)  
>  **meliha** \- Tumblr: meisueyshaoo :)  
>  **jihyee-sarah roy** \- IG: rhum.n.choke / Tumblr: jihyeeroy / Twitter: jihyeeroy 
> 
> so! without further ado, i present to you, the book two: _baby and daddy (tangled in rosegolds)_

♡♡♡♡

"Twenty minutes, sweetie," calls Miranda as she passes the dressing room, holding what Harry makes out to be tangles of wires and microphones and that silly walkie talkie of hers, some wigs of various colors (for whoever), and then costumes, what Harry presumes are his for his second to the last set. She smiles, but it's a hurried one, and then in a matter of seconds she's gone, being the highly efficient one. Off to somewhere, she, probably to the other room where Harry's backup singers would be.

He's in his dressing room as of the moment, clutching his phone with prickling sweats beneath his clammy hands, anxiety overflowing for a reason that he  _knows_ , facing his dresser with a half-length mirror on it, Terry, his stylist about done doing his hair. They keep on stealing glances at each other, a sly smile from Harry and an all encompassing one from the stylist, one who's fully oblivious of the battle Harry's currently in with himself, and with that thought alone, he's all the more getting queasy in his seat.

And isn't that just absurd? He sighs, asking himself,  _hasn't he been doing this for months on end?_  Showcasing his talent for the world to see as he bends and squats and stretches on stage while he belts out lyrics with his famously labeled as 'syrupy seductive drawls' from The Fader itself, prancing around as if he was a pole dancer being thrown papers that are cash by faceless men, supposedly, instead of just one of the many Indie Rock artists in this scene, and yet somehow, it all still seems brand new to him. Again.

Thing is, he's to perform tonight, list of songs all ready at the back of his mind—those that he performed countless times with articulated words that fully intend to seduce the male population, mind—counting the hours for when he's bound to be done for this last leg of the tour his team so willingly put together for him to begin months back. And he's in his hometown now, the last state on the checklist, Mississippi, just right after being in Dallas, Texas, which can only mean that his mother will be watching amongst the crowd.

_His mom._

Harry's always sang, that much is true, it's what he does best and he's confident in that forte, but like, he was used to singing in front of  _men_  though, seeing as he's built a career out of pure and utter  _submissiveness_  where he pours his heart out to  _please_  men, so. So it's just. Quite contradicting, perhaps?

Because tonight, it just so happens that his mom will be witnessing just that. Him, being a... a  _harlot_. He kind of wants to burst out in laughter (while he winces, although), if he's honest to god, because damn it, what if she picks up on his constructed lyrics in no time? From awestruck watching his son perform for the first time with the knowledge of he's living his dream now, to scowling in mere minutes flat having caught the words coming out of his mouth being filthy as fuck. Then like clockwork she'll be reprimanding him after his performance just because of it, with his chin on his chest, head bent down, a pout visible on his lips albeit with a pair of mirthful, mirthful eyes, looking like an Indie Rock Star but with their mother scolding them about being such a sodding  _bitch_.

Well, that's just one of the many reasons why he's so pumped about this anyway, feeling so recklessly promiscuous and young and carefree, even when... well. Even when he's also aware his fiancé can't make it tonight. Sad, that. But Harry understands.

Besides, Louis was just in one of his performances clapping so daintily in the VIP boxes, handsome as ever in his black tux, long hair tucked behind his ears, wearing that fond smile with just the tiniest quirks of the lips, already making Harry weak on the knees, which was back in Virginia when Louis had a business agenda in said state with his mate Liam Payne regarding yet another art project, and Harry had had it ticked off of the lineups.

In hindsight, he would've moped about, texting Louis nonstop about him not being here as this is such an important event of his life, but he just can't bring himself to do so, putting into consideration what their relationship now is. Because everything is... perfect.

Louis  _is_ perfect. Louis' perfect when he fetches Harry his tea. When the sun is up and he's asleep lying peacefully beside Harry, he's perfect in all forms and aspect. When his hair is down and soft, when his eyes are shining as he smiles, he's flawless. Perfect set of teeth and pointed nose kind of perfect. He's just...he's  _perfect_ and he loves Harry. And that makes it perfect.

Hours from now he'll be coming home to Louis in their beach house in Brooklyn, the one his million dollar man has bought just for him. He remembers so dearly when Louis had proposed to him looking all nervous and goofy as they lied peacefully in bed staring right into one another's eyes after a mind blowing sex blurting out, "will you marry me, Hazza?" to which he had boomed his, "yes, yes, yes, Lou! Oh my God!", and the man had gifted him 'house number two' came weeks later.

It was easily one of the happiest moments in Harry's life. And, as ludicrous as that may seem, having named the beach house as 'house number two' but, they actually also have the one Louis owns in Beverly Hills being 'house number one'—where, by the way, Valeria is residing again,  _their_  maid—the one next to his sister's. Just why Harry named the one in Brooklyn house number two, too, is because Louis, apparently, has bought a third one in Paris (four? or maybe five) weeks ago, in exchange to his flat there that he usually went to, for when they would visit whenever it's convenient. (Louis has told Harry time and time again how he still loves his hometown in spite of all the difficult memories he made there, and Harry isn't at all against that for he also dreamed of living in the city of love.) And now—now Louis is already thinking of buying  _another one_! It's crazy, Harry may have guessed right from the beginning of their relationship that Louis tends to spend a lot, but quite frankly, he didn't expect for the man to be...to be as  _such_ ; a person who solely  _invests_ , like a whole damn lot. Where that next house may be, Harry still has no clue, but as soon as he can, he's already thinking it shall be named 'house number four', just in his silly head, of course.

Harry supposes old habits never change, seeing as that's exactly how he named Louis' six vehicles that he could really care less to memorize the year, make and model, once upon a time. He can only snicker to himself.

Glancing down at his phone just as Terry is announcing he's finished with his hair, where his long curls are styled slicked back, strands falling softly at each his shoulders, Harry dials Louis' number and waits until he picks up, gazing at his stylist from behind him who's just packing up and about leaving the room.

Acknowledging whom he's contacting, Harry completely knows he's in Paris right now, making some last minute touches for that latest project he's had of Harry himself,  _ **Myriads of Soliloquies**_ —Louis having Harry with various strangers to be in faux dates with as the very concept of his paintings, having finished just three months ago with the mermaid theme before they got inconveniently  _stuck_. Stuck and then brought to the hospital to be separated, embarrassingly enough. Harry still giggles in his head about that very incident, the look of shock and panic on their faces still a clear, funny visual in his memory. He deems he'll never have that image out of his mind any moment soon. How would he?  _His management had had to go out their way to fight tooth and nail only to save their asses!_

Louis finally picks up after the fifth ring, and it's as though he's ran a marathon, the man sounds at loss for breath when he says in a rush, " _Mon amour_ ," and ah, there it is. The term of endearment he has for Harry, the first one he's ever called him the very first time they ever spoke to one another within the pool area. It still serves as such precious instance that Harry is pocketing in the crevices of his heart for only his remaining lifetime. He's a cheesy fuck, sue him.

"Hello, future husband," he grins, and then he's pouting childishly the next, just because. "How's you doin'? I miss you. Sorry for calling so suddenly, just wanted to hear your voice before I get on that stage and sing my songs dedicated to you." He smirks to himself at the mention of that last part, proud of his work and all that, proud of being in love and in way over his head for one Louis Tomlinson.

There's a pause on the other line, before Louis is replying with a soft voice, accent still thick as ever, still very French after all this time hanging out (and not just that, but  _of fucking course_ ) with an American that is Harry, "That's lovely, baby. I miss you too. Always glad you calling me up. Very thoughtful, that."

"Everything doing great there then, I hope?" Harry twirls some strands of curls around his index finger, giddy and just simply happy to be talking on the phone with his  _future spouse_. Can you believe it? Harry can't. Still can't.

"All is swell, cherié," comes Louis' immediate response, then it seems like he's busying himself again.

Smiling, Harry hums. "I love you, Lou," he tells him, solemn and honest, and just because that's the truth and it's what he feels, and—and because now  _he can_.

He hears Louis smiling on the other end as if that's even possible. Then again, Harry's positive he is, anyway. "As I love you, darling."

Their conversation lasts, Harry asking about Louis' plans for later, Louis wishing him good luck with his performance and before he knows it, they're hanging up, because then Harry's getting called by his manager, shouting it's time. Got to rock that stage.

**~*~**

By the time Harry learns his mom wasn't at all upset with him, he's all sweaty and high with adrenaline after yet another show. His mom didn't give him a motherly beating. Much to his surprise, instead, with tears welling up in his eyes and breathing ragged from running and skipping around the stage for mere couple of hours, his mother had hugged him so fiercely as they stood backstage, cupping his face and wiping at his sweats and damped eyelashes, and congratulated him teary-eyed herself, told him he did seamlessly, wonderfully, caressing the back of his head like she's always done when he was a kid and crying because he lost his favorite toy, and even confessed she was so, so proud of him. Harry marvels on how he was just as proud of himself as she is of him, thanking his lucky stars that his mother has always approved of his flamboyance ever since he turned thirteen.

He gave her a ride back home afterwards, when the moon was high up in the night sky and the stars were all present and gleaming and brighter than the sun, and with last minute decisions opted to stay for one night, slumping down on his childhood ratty old bed with a satisfied smile on his face, tired, his first ever US tour being an all-out success.

He texted Louis before he drifted off to sleep,  ** _Made it, honey! I made it! We made it! And I love you! I love you! I love my job! I love singing! Wouldn't be where I am now if it wasn't for you, yeah?! Mwah mwah mwah! I love youuu! Xx_**

And then he read what his other mates and Gemma had sent him next. There was a couple of them.

From Niall:  ** _Proud of you, Haz ! Hangout soon when u get back ? Wanna see u u famous rockstar haha_**

From Zayn:  _ **Congrats, Harry :)x**_

From Ed:  _ **Let's grab some beers soon, mate. With the boys, like old times? Congrats!**_

From Gemma:  ** _Proud of you, bro. Say hi to mom for me? Love, Gems and Althea. Missing youuu :D_**

And then there was one from Louis' daughter, too. His heartbeats raced as he'd read,  ** _Salut, salut, future step-papa, congratulations. Sincerely from me and Phil. See you sometime soon? Hopefully! Take care ;)_**

Harry had grinned so big as he replied on each text, feeling all warm and sedated. He let his phone lie over the top of the nightstand right after, and slowly he let sleep take over, the moonlight from his childhood window creeping in casting silhouettes across his lying figure on the bed, thin blankets draped over his bare knackered body, sighing for the last time looking forward for what tomorrow might bring.

**~*~**

On the tour van home, as usual nowadays, Harry gets on Twitter.

Truthfully, Harry isn't the type to scroll through social media, he's always been the natural old soul he is that would much rather bask in the 'retro life' and talk to people personally instead of on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram, but given the lifestyle he's living now, he's expected to do this on his free time, too. Talk to his fans—oh, yes, Harry has those now, 'fans', it's still quite overwhelming each time whenever he comes to terms with it, and also a bit too much for he once has just been a simple musician singing in pubs and catered to small crowds of rowdy men—and see what the world has for him.

Sure, Harry is a new Indie Rock artist favorite, in line with huge names such as Marina Diamandis, Melanie Martinez, Matty Healy, Halsey (you name it!), his name quickly spreading and getting known, and his fans loving him for who he is and for what he is, mainly, which is an openly non-straight singer that he is, sashaying around stages with too-tight jeans and halfway down unbuttoned floral tops, but again, since he's really doing this now, this whole getting-his-name-out-there for the bigger crowds, having everyone, people of color and ages and  _sexual orientations_ alike, Harry, still, does get those nasty mean comments all the same. It's not always Christmas and Holidays, rainbows and unicorns—he also has those that are called  _haters_.

He chances at comments being called a 'faggot' for one. A 'cocksucker' at one point too, which, wow, that little fucker must live a really lonely life, huh. Good thing for him though, he's soldiering his way upon living in the new era where LGBT people are day by day being accepted by the masses, and are not aliens to most audiences, no more; therefore with one negative feedback comes a hundred and more of those positive ones that he fully cherishes like they mattered to him as much than he'd like to admit. So there's that. Harry isn't so much as bothered with homophobic remarks some of his so-called bashers throw at him, because  _honestly_. Harry being Harry, he'd just probably grab on those insults and turn them into rainbow necklaces that he can brandish at his gigs, wear such massive shit-eating grin to top it off, then he'll be mocking the whole thing as to brush it off like it's no big deal. Because it shouldn't be a big deal!

Harry has always been confident with his own skin, and that's a fact. Being one to serve as the receiving end of hates only drives Harry to be even more bold with his sexuality just to make a point he's not one bit deterred by their cruelty towards gay people. He'll give himself some credit for being brave at that. And yes, that's just Harry Styles for you if not so cheeky and  _a true minx_ as Louis would say with a fond smile, over and over. That's just how he was raised, what can he say?

So with his breath held, the app still loading, Harry braces himself as he taps on the hash tag  _#HarryStylesUSTour_ , dedicated to him by Twitter users consisting of both his fans and, as stupid as it is, bashers, then waits for tweets to lay themselves out.

Harry sighs in relief as he skims through tweets after tweets, thankful that there are even less homophobic comments now unlike when he was first introduced during his small gigs and people were yet to actually appreciate the type of artist that he is, the kind to sing slowly, forlornly, with submissively depressing lyrics, matched with sad, thunderous basses, low musicale and vintage tunes; and then, of course, the kind of singing style he has ongoing for him, quite with a mixture of Marilyn Monroe, Jessica Rabbit and Elvis Presley.

He smiles seeing the mills of loving feedback that came from his  _rose petals_ —it's what he calls his fan base, being a singer songwriter who writes poems about being a sugarplum baby being pampered by such good-naturedly generous daddies, dollies being brought to cool places and being shown the world to, with vintage, sultry feels to them and association to nymphet-themed films back in the days,  _Lolita, Pretty Baby, Daisies, The Virgin Suicides, American Beauty, Poison Ivy, The Crush, Little Bride_ , so he concedes it's just appropriate that he makes it official that he indeed is the kind of singer who would name his fans such pretentious, cheesy title. But like, can you blame Harry? He's just following some type of persona here, okay. It's not like he's chosen the sugar baby role; the sugar baby role chose him, so they should just suck on that.

**_We love you, @Harry_Styles! Never thought I'd be enjoying songs of today, but you totally changed that for me. Kudos! #HarryStylesUsTour_ **

**_i shoulda been doin the laundry but here i am tweeting this instead. this one's for u, babe @Harry_Styles <3 songs so sweet like cinnamon #HarryStylesUSTour_ **

**_Love the fact that u even wear such carefree clothes !!! IM IN LOVE WITH #HarryStylesUSTour i love you @Harry_Styles ♥_ **

**_HE FREAKIN HELD MY SIGN IM AKDOSXBSIXKOLAJ AAAAHHH #HARRYSTYLESUSTOUR_ **

**_k u d o s! :* :* :* @Harry_Styles new fave ! was in #HarryStylesUSTour last night._ **

**_MOTHERFUCKIN BLUE JEANS WHITEHSIRT WALKEDIN TO TR ROOM U KNOW U MADE MYEYES BURN #HARRYSTYLESUSTOUR_ **

**~*~**

Harry reaches house number two after some time, this four-storey beach house all-white and neat, customized specially to look like a lighthouse near the shore, verandas on both third and fourth levels, the building round with circle-shaped windows on two sides, some on the left and some on the right, then curved rectangular ones as the rest, with pale blue curtains drawn from the inside, single front door that's connecting to a three-step porch on the outside, sands laid at the bottom. Having met with that image alone, Harry already feels at home, excitement pooling at the depths of his tummy, the thought of seeing Louis the first in his very list; hurriedly, he clambers out the vehicle and acknowledges the driver, Conner, thanking and handing him a generous sum of tip on his way back to their headquarters.

Harry looks around at large, peering up to catch a glimpse of Coney Island on the far end of the beach, a satisfied smile painting his lips. He slings his guitar around his torso, and then he's marching over the stone steps towards his and Louis' house. He has two hired bodyguards helping him get his stuff inside the house, Rico and George, two of which he tossed the house keys to thus they soldier inside the threshold before him, and then in a minute he's left to sort everything else on his own.

       

The house, as expected, is empty. It hasn't been lived in for months, given he's been on his very own US tour, and Louis had also been constantly away, or sometimes is staying else where, jumping from one hotel to another, around the world to meet with other investors and curators, all in regards to his painting agenda. Well, Harry misses him. He misses him so much, and he just hopes Louis calls him soon rather than later, to tell him he's coming home to him. Because fucking hell, Harry might go crazy if chances will be he'll be sleeping alone to himself again. He's been doing that ever since they've both been busy with their jobs, and shit if Harry's yet to declare he's tired of it.

To be able to sleep flushed against his fiancé, even just for a night and more nights to come, consecutively, hopefully, would be the best opportunity Harry will ever earn—if that—if he's honest.

Just thinking about the fact he'd have the need to put it that way puts a damper to his parade. However, Harry has to take whatever there is that's offering itself.

**~*~**

He finishes settling in after hours of unpacking his suitcases and dumping all his things in each their rightful places, tidying up a bit in both the guest rooms, master's bedroom and lounging area, and in record time he's standing facing the full-length mirror they have in their room; he looks at his reflection staring back at him, noticing how immensely his appearance has changed for just a course of a year. Being famous and wealthy have done him a good job, rendering him capable of beautifying and spoiling himself with some high-end branded clothing, shoes, and jewelries alike. He's still tan, Harry, he takes note of, but he's starting to see that he's beginning to look fairer again than when he and Louis first hit it off.

He hasn't decided on whether or not he'll stick to just letting himself go all milky white again, or sunbathe instead to achieve looking yet flushed red, like he's carried so well all those months ago. Perhaps he should ask Louis once he gets back, take into account what the older man prefers on him, since god forbid he gets bestowed the capability to set even just this lambent thing for himself.

Harry takes a shower after some time, brushes his teeth and shaves his legs and face, throwing his used clothes in the hamper.

He pads toward the dresser letting go of the towel he has around his waist, and then slips on his engagement ring, finally, this silver band with an enormous aquamarine stone that Louis got him, after a long day of working, posing as a single man. Because yes, despite Harry has been open to everyone that he's in fact gay, Harry's team suggested that he hide his marital status for the time being. Considering that he's just starting with this career, or rather  _is_  at the brink of getting known through his career, right in the middle of it all, the fame, the sponsors, the fans—his handlers think that it's best if he presented himself as someone who's in the market, instead of tied with another person, being that person as attractively handsome as Louis Tomlinson, because then people might lose interest sooner than later, and then he'll just reign on his fifteen minutes of fame before people are quickly forgetting he even existed. Much worse, he'd be just pinpointed as that one underground artist who was engaged with an older man, but got swept under the rug as hastily as he'd come. They merely required they hide their relationship for now (for however long), and perhaps, one of these days when Harry has finally made quite a huge impact on his listeners, has made a strong foundation that's surely to be putting his name out there in the long run than the other way around, maybe then—maybe then he and Louis can eventually just... _be_. Let themselves be seen on public, holding hands and be labeled as dating, at the least, even though they are more than just that for they are  _engaged_ , for heaven's sake.

And well. Well, maybe even then afterwards if they ever received approvals from everyone, the next thing they would do is to...to...get married. Oh, Harry suddenly feels warm and fuzzy again, chills running down his spines, having realized something like that is a probable possibility in this present life he's granted with.

What with he and Louis are are just one step away from the topmost of their relationship. He'll be known as Harry Tomlinson someday. Harry never thought he'll be this lucky when he once just has been a twenty-one year old youngster who drove his white vintage car and brought his guitar with him at all times, visiting his sister in Beverly Hills all for the sole purpose of lounging in her home or to care for his niece, when life took too much of his energy both physically and mentally. Also, when his throat was sore out of singing every night, even sometimes drunk off his ass. (One of the perks of being a singer in bars.)

Harry sleeps alone tonight, once more— _just one more night_ , he tells himself—and he leaves Louis a voicemail saying how much he loves and misses him, before letting it lie on the pillow next to his. He checks the time on the straying wall clock nearby the door, and thinks it's probably around two in the morning in Paris.

Knowing his old man, Harry supposes he's sleeping now or maybe doing some late night work. Oh well. Basing from the lack of reply from Louis to his voicemail, he plausibly is right. He then just takes that as his cue and calls it a night.

**~*~**

Harry wakes up and the first thing he notices are added suitcases next to the mix of others he's brought home with himself. He lets out a yawn, stretching his arms making some bones pop here and there, then—

Then it clicks as soon as he lands his feet on the floor; his eyes widen, and then the next thing is that he's springing up in action, scrambling to slip on his slippers, puts on a robe, and eventually he's barging out of the door to look for—

"Babe," Harry breathes out just as he sees,  _right there_ , his million dollar man, dressed in what he presumes are comfy clothes now (just a shirt and some trackies) rather than the older man's usual skins which would methodically consist of fine, pressed tux or some dark-colored suit and tie, some fresh looking trousers with matching coats or blazers, together with crocodile leather shoes or perhaps a pair of neat loafers, looming over the veranda they have by the round hallway connecting doors after doors that lead to different rooms, such as massive bathrooms or guest rooms, with a cigarette stick in between his dainty fingers, and well. Harry's breathless just by finally having seen his  _fiancé_  again, after months of not being able to, given the complicated timing of their schedules and, really, their natures of work in general. Harry is so damn happy facing the love of his life—like this, sleep-rumpled with his hair looking like a freaking nest atop his head—that he can barely utter no words.

       

As if animatedly, watching Louis shuffling with his slipper-clad feet turning around and letting go of the white railings, the old man's features from staring in wonderment, perhaps, as he looks over the view of the beach outside in serenity as he smokes away with a killer stick, morphs into this...relieved one and at the same time  _earnest_  facial expression, gaze locking with Harry's who, look-wise, seemingly still half asleep, and even has some dried saliva on the corners of his mouth, standing frozen and almost teary-eyed, (almost), at the entryway of the master's bedroom— _their_  bedroom—in this humble ( _pffft_ , please, this is just way too fancy albeit its style screams  _immaculately white minimalist_ ) shack.

Well.

The older man starts, walking towards him—taking quick strides, honestly—and in a second, he's in front of Harry and Harry is jumping him, so, so fucking  _at ease_. With laughter bubbling out his throat, Louis holds Harry securely and firmly by his bum, Harry's legs and thighs wrapped around his lithe waist, his arms snaked around Louis' neck, swift and hasty upon nosing along the crook of his neck.

And there's the awfully familiar scent, wafting through his nose and eliciting a low moan of happiness within him, just truly and immensely sedated that finally he's in the arms of the man he's in head over heels for.

" _Cherié_ ," murmurs Louis in his ear, letting him have a taste of those somersaults in the wildest, bottom-most part of his belly, which makes him think instantaneously,  _always_. What Louis always makes him feel, pretty much. It's as if Louis was purposefully made to collectively turn him into this lovesick puppy, all things considered.

Leaning back, Harry cups Louis' face and just like that, he lets their lips crash against each other,  _at long last_ , tasting the sweetness of Louis' mouth and the softness of his lips, with Louis easily melting seamlessly to it, their red tongues sliding over one another's, tenderly so, all wet and warm with their breaths also clashing as one.  _And Harry missed this, he missed this, he missed this!_  Maybe he should write a song about this moment, if not later then amiably after lunch? Whenever.

 _Whenever_.

They stay like that for awhile, Louis massaging his cheeks from underneath, until Harry's slipping from his strong grip on his behind, feet landing on the tiled ground. They part away, Louis' hands now resting on the small of his back; their gazes meet halfway, Louis' piercing blue eyes bluer than ever, and—and fuck, Harry is once again at the verge of tearing up just as he tells Louis, ever so sincerely, "I fucking missed you, honey, what the  _bloody fuck_." He chokes on that last part, making Louis release some of those husky sounding chuckles, the sexiness of them going straight to Harry's cock.  _Quite already._  Embarrassingly so.

"I have missed my baby doll, too," comes Louis' reply, voice barely heard over the wind blowing and waves hitting the rocks along the shores outside, made possible by the slid-open windows of their home, curtains swaying candidly.

Harry drinks in the look on Louis' face, weeks worth of stubble rough against the pads of his palms, crinkles by his eyes present as he smiles at Harry like this, gorgeous and Peter Pan-like yet timely and overwhelmingly handsome. Harry can't help bite at his lip, dazed and childlike, so enamored with his precious Frenchman.

And, this. This is what Harry's waited for, for what feels like eternity, busy life and the lot taking a toll on him. It's to be in the vicinity of one Louis Tomlinson again, be in the safety of his arms, the center of his craved attention. Attention that for days he's longed for but is now being given to him on a silver platter, just like that, as though it's always been as easy than it looks, granted that Louis right at this moment is smoothing circles at the silk fabric of his robe, the flesh on his back tingling with the lingering touches.

Harry smiles, forehead pressing against Louis' own. "Had breakfast yet, babe?" he murmurs, hoping Louis will say no. He also missed cooking Louis breakfast.

Like magic, Louis' lips slowly quirks up and a sly smirk forms, one that Harry wouldn't want to miss witnessing for the world. "Honest, my love?"

Harry nods, making Louis laugh softly for their foreheads bump with his movement. Harry doesn't mind much, he breathes out, "Yeah?"

Louis shakes his head, eyes fluttering close just briefly before he's gazing back at Harry's face so close to his. "Have not."

Breaking into a grin, Harry beams. "Just what I'd like to hear," he says through his teeth, cheeks almost painful with how wide he's smiling.

Another laugh from Louis—another eye-crinkling, heart-stopping, honest-to-god bashfully endearing killer smile from the old man—making Harry's knees wobble helplessly, and he's leading Harry down to head to the kitchen, interlocking their fingers together. "Let us help our selfs then, with some food, oui?" He says,  _offers_. And the thing is, Louis' uttered those words with such silly kind of accent in his throat, see, has even managed to construct his sentence poorly that it's involuntarily urging Harry to suppress his giggles, all that, but like—

Harry just—he can't help but to just go along with it, decide against bothering to correct this wonderful, wonderful man, no matter if only a few words is all it would take. Because he thinks Louis looks so lovely like this, so at home and confident, that Harry...just in the end lets himself nod, climb down the steps with Louis.

And damn it, really, he wouldn't want it the other way around.


	2. The Man I Love, He's Hard At Work, Hard To The Touch ♡♡

♡♡♡♡

The look of aghast on Harry's face when Louis has spotted him standing seeming abruptly awaken this morning has had him floored so to say, admittedly, and there's nothing he wants more now than to have Harry like this again. Pure, all his for the taking...and naked, of course—fully and in all of his glory  _bare_ —right in front of Louis, smoothly shaven, a stark beauty in contrast to every little thing that's surrounding him.

Pillows scatter around Harry's lying figure on the bed, cocooning him almost despite he's always been taller and bigger, and that image and all those facts alone have Louis' throat drying head on, because damn. If he thought Harry was amazing the first time he saw him, he thinks of Harry now as, perhaps,  _unimaginable_ , because is he even real at this point? His hair has gone longer, dark brown waves of curls hugging his face so majestically with his cheeks all rosy pink, standing out, and, he's  _glowing_ , is the thing. Whatever happened to his Del Rey during all those weeks they were apart from each other, honestly. Louis is out of breath, he's out of his depth in here, and—and for a second there, right now as he gazes at Harry who's pliantly being patient underneath him, he suddenly doesn't know how to start.  _Where_ to start with him.

_Where does he start with this boy?_

And like, Louis' always known how, hasn't he? He's always known what to do with his hands whenever he's near Harry. But now, though... now, how come he doesn't know where to begin?

Silly, that.

To answer his own qualms, however, maybe it's because of the fact that he's craved to have Harry again like this, be trapped in his arms and be coddled by him, be  _loved_ , make up for the time that he was not able to, that's why when the opportunity has once and for all presented itself, he's at loss for retaliation. Huh. So maybe that's that.

A beat passes, the wind blows from the outside, and there is some sheet-rustling that Louis distinctively hears.

"Lou... Louis," comes the mewling sounds that Harry's made, voice tiny and almost sounding as if he's whimpering, whining, really, about something. Louis on instinct hushes him, reaching over to put a finger across his plump lips, the feel of them velvety under the pad of his skin. It's still effective, Louis notes, because that has Harry quieting down right away. Great. But then that's only for four seconds short, and the boy is starting to move his left leg again, more sheet-rustling sounding, and then he's brushing the smooth shaven skin of his leg against Louis' own bare one, and that... that brings some type of jolt in Louis, hot spurt of something pooling at his lower abdomen.

"What is it, baby?" He asks then, voice an octave low, directing his attention on Harry, who, with his eyes fluttering close only to snap open again, mouth agape, is already grinding against him, right from beneath. He feels Harry's hands finally making for his lower back, mildly groping. Louis gets goosebumps, just from those simple traction. "What do you want, hmm?" He asks again, humming.

And, he seethes, Harry, if him gritting his teeth is any indication (as though something within him is pulsing), but it's still more of a purr than any, Louis supposes, "Make up for loss time..." he trails off, voice sweet and velveteen, before he flicks his gaze back up to let them bore into Louis' face. "...Daddy?"

And. Well.

Fuck. That's it. That's Louis' cue, isn't it? Like old times.

Untangling himself from Harry, quickly now, which has earned him a whining protest from the younger boy himself like that was expected, Louis rolls out of bed and looks over his shoulder, addressing the aforementioned, "Bathroom, doll," he mutters, darkly and with intent, tilting his head and nodding towards the door where their bathroom leads, motioning for Harry to get his ass up and follow him. Catching his drift, Harry bolts right up, no finesse in his demure whatsoever, and then in a second he's following Louis at once, the two of them fully naked as is. Or, save for the Calvin Klein boxers that Louis is still clad with, though, and his silver Rolex around his left wrist. Because honestly, if there's anyone who can literally prance around naked from head to toe, betwixt them, it's Harry. A real exhibitionist, him. And Louis' aware of this information from the get-go.

       

Getting inside, Louis flicks the lights on, glittering the entirety of their private bathroom in yellow hues. He strips naked then, letting his dick spring out, already hard and aching in between his thighs, no pre-come yet, and then Harry is slipping past through him and into the tub. Louis doesn't waste any more time for he climbs in the tub himself too, and in a matter of seconds, he's grabbing onto Harry's face and he's letting their mouths crash against one another.

Harry moans almost instantly, in time with Louis' groan, making desperate grabby hands around Louis and stopping at his nape, even pulling them closer,  _closer_ , and until there's no more spaces between their fully flushed, pressed bodies. Louis growls now, and then he's parting for breath before he's going in again and licking a pointed stripe across Harry's mouth, tasting his sweetness and warmth.

And they make-out for a while, tongues merely battling each other, hurried and hungry, rendering them both a panting, breathless mess.

In one quick motion, Harry's dropping down on his knees, but simultaneously careful not to bruise upon hitting the marble tub at that, and as if he's a born natural with this is fast to take Louis' cock in his mouth. Louis watches, dazed and lustful, as he pushes his fingers through Harry's curls, gripping. That elicits another strangled moan from Harry, and as though it has some type of magic, encourages Harry to go even filthier and grosser as he laps at the base of Louis' dick. _Wet, so wet._ Pulling out with an obscene pop, Harry holds around his girth and starts pumping, deliciously slow at first until he's going faster, swifter, making Louis flutter his eyelids close to the amazing sensation it brings to his body.

Harry's mouth wraps around him once again, suckling hungrily, making him wetter and slicker, saliva covering almost all of his shaft; pulling off, Harry gasps for breath, creating cobwebs of spit that connect to his chin, those that are dribbling down from his lower lip. He picks up pace, giving Louis some quick pumps, once again, singlehandedly, as he ducks down lower to mouth on Louis' balls next. With that gesture, Louis' knees tremble underneath him, and fuck.  _Fuck_. Now  _that_  is good shit right there. Harry's a true legend at this—at blowing Louis. Which, that must've spurred something in Louis, flashing images of Harry in his head going dirtier and dirtier, wanting more than to just do all the nasty stuff to his fiancé.  _Thus_  clutching harder on Harry's hair, he tugs, and then he pulls, urging Harry to go back to his dick,  _have at it_ , and when he does, that's when Louis begins thrusting. Harry lets out a squeak, some surprised strangled noise in his throat because of that (but he obliges willingly, balancing himself to stay upright by holding onto Louis' thighs,  _holding on for dear life_ ) because then Louis is fucking up into him, hard, making sure that the head of his cock is jabbing at the back of Harry's throat,  _time and time again._

And it's—it's fucking magnificent, that, so he forges on, not stopping until he sees that the younger boy is welling up with tears. Louis takes pride in that, heart rabbiting fast in his chest, so fucking endeared by this boy. This boy of his.

Because Harry can take all of him, that's the motherfucking thing right there, without gagging or anything along that weakshit behavior, and—and Louis perhaps wants to applaud him for it. As ridiculous as that sounds. Harry just impresses him so much. Louis himself can't imagine being in Harry's position right now if he's brutally honest. He can't take up a hard huge cock like Harry can, he'll plainly admit to that, nope, not really. And he doesn't even like blowing someone, actually, and that's a fact he's willing to stay true with. Luckily enough, Harry looks like he's mastered doing this for years, and Louis feels at ease having the privilege to be the one he's doing such inhuman favors to.  _He'll be doing such inhuman favors to for only the rest of their lives._

After some time, Louis releases Harry, finally taking pity on him for probably getting sore with his position knelt on the cold marble, and soon enough, Louis is pulling him up to stand. He kisses Harry through it, catching a glimpse of the hazy look on the boy's face. And, god, if he doesn't look  _wrecked_. He can taste himself on Harry's tongue, Louis loving the adrenaline that surges through his veins with just that alone, and therefore that brings him to his next mission, which is to get Harry to bend over for him, facing the wall next to the shower switch, then—

"Hold on," he pants out.

"What." Harry sounded panic, bent over with his hair in complete disarray.

It makes Louis almost chuckle. "Lube, babe," he simply says.

Glancing at him, looking like floating up in subspace, Harry points to the massive vanity mirror they have in the bathroom. And if it isn't for the sole fact that Harry looks so deranged right now, having his throat fucked for quite a bit long, Louis would've sprang into action straight on, scramble for the lube and coat some generous amount on his dick and not stand rooted to the ground like this. Alas, he admires firsthand, reaching out to thumb at Harry's jaw, feeling the smooth skin right there save for the few stubble Harry's missed to shave off, and just...stares, starry-eyed. That earns him a soft laugh bubbling out from Harry, so suddenly, but then it's cut short when Louis blinks, shocked even with himself, with his own actions  _during sex_ , mind. So Louis, gathering his shit, shakes himself out of it and proceeds to get their lube and comes back inside the tub. He almost pulls a dorky smile.

He slicks up his cock then, dropping the bottle off the tub, and while he does so, he ducks down to lick a stripe across Harry's hole. The younger boy, like clockwork, responses to his tongue with a bodily shudder. That makes Louis smirk, so he does it again. And again. And again, until he's full-on eating Harry out, eager tongue slurping and leaving wet bubbles of saliva all around Harry's puckered hole. He makes for one of Harry's ass cheeks to squeeze harshly at it, stilling the boy not to topple over the wall.

By the time he's done rimming Harry, the boy is hopelessly clinging to the shower switch, at the verge of turning the thing; Louis fixes that, requesting that Harry lets it go saying he wouldn't want them getting sprayed by cool water for that might ruin the steamy moment. Giggling mindlessly, Harry does as he's told, and then he's back at the corner of the wall again, this time while Louis is holding his right hip in place, lining up his cock across his pumping rim.

"Beautiful." Louis mumbles, mostly to himself as he admires Harry's bent position like this, with his back arched a bit, and his ass poised out, all ready for Louis to...to  _wreck_.

Which, that's exactly what's Louis' aiming to do, and so he will. Slowly now, Louis situates the head of his cock around the tightness of Harry, a low, whimpering noise escaping from Harry himself, and in a matter of seconds, he's finally pushing in.

"Ohh,  _fuck_ —," Harry bites out, the sound alone invigorating Louis to go on. He takes it slow, however, letting Harry have the first burns little by little, not wanting for the younger boy to hurt too much. He extends a free hand towards Harry's shoulder blade and massages him there, while he pushes in deeper, further, and until he's bottoming out. Satisfied, both he and Harry letting out soft sighs of relief, Louis begins to thrust back. And then forward. Pulling out and pushing in. It goes smoothly after that, and then in a minute he's finding himself gripping tightly on Harry's waist because then he's creating a steady, fast rhythm.

Because Harry is by a few inches taller than he is, Louis notices how his knees are slightly bent beneath them, but Louis doesn't mind much for he's pretty occupied himself. He keeps his thrusts at a mid-fast pace, letting their skins slap against each other, almost hurling Harry across the edge of the walls. Louis stills him in place, doesn't want his baby hitting his beautiful head, but he still fucks him hard though, feeling so hyped up and horny and fuck, fuck,  _shit_ —

"Like that, H?" He hisses, fucking harder and harder, reaching for Harry's sweet spot all the while.

Another inhuman noise from Harry, garbled words coming out of his mouth, and Louis' power-thrusting next. Harry whines,  _he whines_ , and Louis just—

"Say it, baby, fucking say it," he growls, gripping on Harry's waist tighter,  _going further_ , as he pulls all the way out, until his leaking slick cock is on view, just so he can push all the way inside again, his cock disappearing around Harry's clenching walls.

Has caught on, seemingly so, Harry finally cries out, clammy, sweaty hands almost slipping from the wall, " _Daddy! Yes, yes, daddy!_ " He chants it, resulting into Louis rolling his eyes at the back of his head. He sees black, he sees white, he hears Harry gusting out heavy puffs of air, and...

And that's fucking it—Louis comes. Louis comes in hot, thick spurts, filling Harry up just like that, what with the absence of condom since they don't use one nowadays, being practically married and whatnot, and that has him blowing out a breath of relief. "Ohh, thank fuck," he curses under his breath, panting and tiring out. His fucking cue, he deems, that.  _Daddy_. When Harry calls him daddy, to be precised.

Once he feels that he's done emptying his load, Louis slowly slips out of Harry. The boy's all wrecked now, he notices, limbs gangly and jelly.  _Pliant, used_. Louis is quick to be in Harry's space, and then he's taking Harry's cock in his grasp, feeling the hardness that it still sports. Harry leans his head against the wall beside them, and Louis' too enamored not to capture his lips as he surges forwards just to eat hungrily at that flushed face. Harry kisses him back, smiling a little between their lips, and then they're going all filthy and messy again as they exchange spits with each other, just as Louis' pumping expertly on Harry's cock. The boy shudders bodily, eyes crinkling all responsive and subby under Louis' dominance. And, a few tugs are all it takes, before Harry's eventually releasing white strings of semen, some gathered over Louis' knuckles.

They both let go of each other's mouths, then Louis is squishing Harry's jaw to make him open his mouth, his other hand with Harry's sticky come going towards to Harry's stuck out tongue. Harry wraps his lips around it, around Louis' index and middle fingers, making a show of swallowing afterwards, tasting his own semen.

Which, wow. Wild. Such wild little vixen.

"Did good, my love..."

Harry hums, nodding hazily, cheeks, nose and throat flushed red. He chases more of Louis' fingers to suck when Louis moves to retrieve them, like he's so hungry for them.

Louis allows himself to smirk at the insane sight of that.

**~*~**

Post-sex drowsy, Louis does the honor to wash Harry's hair for him together with his lean body, letting the younger boy just sit on the tub, hugging his legs with his arms to appear smaller, quietly humming some song under his breath, while Louis on the other hand kneels to come off taller, holding a washcloth in one hand, the two of them almost curled up under the spray. Louis leaves soft, chaste kisses almost on every inch of Harry's skin, his nape, his back, his shoulder and temple, as he rubs and smooths out a bar of soap across his back and arms.

Louis watches, tacitly, turning the shower off, as beads of water drips dramatically slow along Harry's back, some droplets dribbling over his inked skin, making himself wonder how in the world did he ever get so lucky having Harry Styles in his life. His heart aches sometimes, whenever they're miles and miles apart, especially when he's at work and Harry is all the way in fucking Texas, or South Dakota, or—wherever Louis is not. And, he just... he just loves this boy so much. So much so that he almost breaks with it. As if they're not in good terms sometimes, even when they really aren't. It's absurdity at best, that, but. But that's just Louis. He's been cheated on once, so he can't help  _long_  for the kind of love that stays with him forever. And perhaps that's why he's being this way.

Closing his eyes, Louis inhales sharply, then he's scrubbing on his own body, finishing them both up.

**~*~**

"How's touring, darling?"

At the question thrown, Louis doesn't miss the way Harry's eyes light up. Like torchlight coming to life. A beacon. It's amazing. They're in the living area now, just lounging, Harry all dressed up now with some of Louis' fresh clothes—some white oversized Adidas hoodie and some gray joggers that stop short on his ankles (since he outgrows them, which should look hilariously weird to some, as though the poor bottoms were forced to fit in those endless legs of his. Then again, to Louis he only looks downright cute, so there's also that)—because he's insisted, pouting and grumbling as he went all,  _cause I've missed you dearly, Lou-louuu, I should be allowed to walk around with your scent never leaving my sense of smell, ya' know?!_  with his hair tied up in a messy bun, ringlets of curls poking out from each side of his face. Louis raises a brow, amused more than any, and then Harry is filling him in.

"Oh, it was outrageously splendid, honey!" He guffaws, smiling ridiculously big his face must  _hurt_. Louis watches in interest as Harry tacks on, giggling now, "My mom went into one of them by the way, when we stopped by in Mississippi. Remember that I was born there, Lou?  _Anyway_ , I got scared that she might scream at me after the show because—well," he gestures with his hands, going sheepish all the sudden, "uh, you know how I do it on stage, yeah? When I kind of, like..."

Louis smiles, shaking his head. "I get it, darling, no need to shy away, yes?"

Harry nods, grinning. He adjusts over the settee and continues with his story. "Right, so. She didn't scold me. In fact! She just congratulated me, and then we went back to our house, the one where I grew up. Slept there for a night, then—," he looks up at Louis, as if he's remembered something, "— _ooh_ , your daughter, she texted me."

Louis at this point has pulled out his lighter and pack of cigarettes. He pulls out one stick and lights it up in between his lips, before acknowledging Harry, "Freya. What did she say?"

Harry hums happily, "Congratulated me too! Like everyone else. Said it was from her and your ex." He chuckles, hugging his knees to his chest. "This touring thing is really fun, honey. Just a bit lonely sometimes though, because we barely see each other, barely talk."

Louis frowns. "Suppose we'll have to just get used to it."

"Yeah..."

"About our engagement, Harry—"

"That, uhm," Harry cuts in, assessing Louis with a sad gaze, "management, they...said we should hide it for now." Louis watches as Harry purses his lips, frowning, and he doesn't like the look of that. The look of Harry looking so down this way. "I know it sucks, but. It has to do with my name getting into headlines. They want me to pose as a single man in the meantime, said that that would attract more people to listen to my songs, lest care about looking me up. They said I can't wear the ring you gave me, otherwise people will speculate and then we'd have to lie. Well, I loathe lying, much worse lie about  _us_ , so I reckon it was best if I just played it safe." He pouts, sighing. "Sucks tons, this. It's... as if the world is making me realize that people would only love me at face value, instead of appreciate me as an artist, love me for my songs, not if they can get into my pants or much worse depend whether they'd decide to like me based on my marital status."

Forcing himself to smile, Louis reaches towards Harry to give him a pat on the knee. "Cheer up, buttercup. At least that's only for your career's sake. We're still engaged and very much in love at the end of the day, agreed?" He shoots Harry a wink, and that does the trick. Harry is back on smiling again.

Deep down inside, Louis is pained to hear about Harry's management's decisions regarding that—their relationship being hidden from the people, Harry's fans in general—but Louis knows better than to act all irresponsible and immature about this that he can't point at anyone or anything to blame. And he knows this kind of stuff, he's no alien to fame.

Because truthfully, Louis is also known to some, he's well-aware he's popular himself. But unlike Harry who is being marketed worldwide in the name of music, Louis' name is much bustling in the art scene itself than any other mainstream groups, where his co-artists and people who are passionate about the said category are the ones that mainly flock about and gush at his masterpieces, and nothing more. He's being gawked at by painting collectors, handshaking with high-profile businesspeople who take arts seriously, and just all out by professionals with  _lots of money_  in general that he gets to arrange appointments with on a regular basis.

And well, it's not like those types of people have the  _need_ for Louis himself to actually pose as available in the market as well, right, just in order for him to sell, but. But Louis, still, is knowledgeable about the kind of truce that music labels or celebrity handlers start up with their acts. It's all for the sake of their nature of work, it's an extension to their contracts. So Louis supposes he just has to stay patient for now—for him and Harry, for them. Besides, what he told Harry just now is true; at the end of the day, they're still very much together, with nothing else or anyone to ever take that away from them. Not even Harry's team, no. So.

So Louis leans back, and he lets himself relax. After all, he's been working hard all year round, and for the first time in months he's finally reached a goal he's set for himself. Again.

That's right. He's officially done with the one he's working on at the moment, which consists of "Harry with men". Louis has thought of this, not really having the sense of jealousy over men salivating over his beau, but rather with  _pride_ , because he's bordered more on  _yeah, that one's mine, pal, have a good look on what you will never have_. It's a type of concept where Louis' hired men his age, attractive and donned wrinkles that still suited them, to wine and dine Harry, hypothetically, as that should be the vibe of his paintings, the story behind them, capturing moments like Harry telling something equally funny and interesting to the man he's supposedly on a date with. Then at one point has had Harry popping in a grape in his mouth as the man poured more wine in their glasses. There was this one as well where Harry was sat on a piano bench, half naked, just with some duvet covering his goods, with a hired model standing languidly next to the organ, elbow rested on top of it, as he smiled coyly and supposedly naturally at Harry who was showing off his "piano skills". It's, amicably, a series of romantic dates with various of men and Harry, and Louis has set in stone he will be the center of it all, as he's also starred in one of his own works, being put on the largest size of canvas he owned, being their friend Nick as the one who had photographed that certain scene where they were actually on a real date back in LA. Harry was laughing at something he'd said, just as Louis was taking a piece of French fry from a tray over their table, crinkly-eyed over his boy.

Being an artist himself, Louis likes to think that he can actually distinguish his muses' emotions whilst he paints them, like he can tell whether or not they're being natural and relaxed, if they're just faking and forcing themselves to act a way. And, well, Louis can easily admit it's his and Harry's picture together that stood out the best in all of the others that he pictured to paint, with Harry and all those other men, although he'd have to give Harry some credits, for being such a natural model, making it seem like he was actually  _into it_. The whole dating scheme of it.

And Louis has always admired that about Harry. The fact that he's always given his hundred percent when it comes to being Louis' beautiful subject, despite he didn't have to. Then again, Harry has once said to him that he  _loves_  it even—loves doing this for him. All for him. Louis is still grateful each time, up to this day, thanking Harry by staying loyal and faithful to him, as a partner in all aspects, both lifetime and business wise. Even after all this time that they are together, that is; even more so that they are practically married and has multiple houses and vehicles together, signed under their names to share,  _legally_.

Louis must confess, he never made it to go as far as binding a legal property contract with anyone he's dated from the past, not even Phil, whom, he was once lawfully married to. Which is freakishly surreal, knowing himself to be quite cynical when it comes to licit talks. He has a suspicion that it's conceivably just Harry and Harry alone, his charms and talent in bed altogether being just a teeny tiny bonus.

Maybe.

Highly likely.

Or, who is Louis even trying to fool here, honestly. For heaven's sake, Harry really is just that special! To him! Always has been, nothing has changed; he's still his precious  _Del Rey_.

He's still Harry freaking Styles who has managed to steal his cocaine heart, so like?

**~*~**

Harry makes them some tea. And, even though they've known each other for quite some time now, given they're engaged, jeez, it literally still shows just how little the boy knows about anything remotely British. Or European, let's just say, since Louis is French and he's from France, which is in Europe. Okay.

Anyway. As it turns out, Harry, until now still hasn't mastered making Louis' tea according to how he takes it. Which, meh.

But that's alright though, because he knows Harry is very American, and that he's born and raised in Mississippi South, so it's no surprise that the moment Louis takes his first sip, he almost gagged.  _Way too sweet._

Thankfully, he's suppressed it, hiding his face behind the mug, so that counts for one less frantic Harry. They're still by the living area, on the ground floor, taking in the picturesque view of the ocean from the outside, both their hairs dried from the passing breeze by now. Harry's telling him about his schedule for the next few days, said his team has set up a press conference for him to follow up on the tour he just finished, in which he has to attend to five days from today, and then feeding Louis next to some appointment with hired paparazzi to even get his name out there. To be talked about. "It wouldn't be that much, just me walking around New York with whatever is in the paper bag in my hands," he says rather dismissively, rolling his eyes. "Some pastries, maybe. Boring, I should say." He sighs, and Louis has to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing, because honest to god Harry looks as if he's five seconds away from pulling at his hair.  _And he hasn't even lasted a year in this career he's started!_ "Then ya'know, they said I'll have to look as if I've just woken up or something like that, to make it more convincing. If ever was asked, lie to their faces that I was out for some morning jog. Nothing too out of the ordinary, sadly."

Can't help his shit-eating grin now (because have any of you even sat for a casual conversation with Harry Edward Styles? He's only one of the most entertaining talkers, let Louis tell you.), Louis finally breaks character and leans back on the single couch, the one across from the settee where Harry is slouching freely. "Why, what do you suggest you do, baby?" He opts to humor.

Whining in his mug, Harry tells Louis, desperate tone of voice and all, "Like—like, I want to be seen fashionably  _poetic_ instead, honey!" He gestures with his one hand wildly, frustrated and pouty. "Like maybe, you know—I want to be in my vintage white Mustang and be seen smoking a slender  _Esse_ stick, because that will defo' compliment my rosegold nail polish and  _millions_ of rings, will it not? And like perhaps with—well, maybe one bodyguard taking shotgun in my car, smoking a pipe too, with grills in his teeth like a gangster! Or... or, wait! Maybe with one of the boys! That's right.  _Zayn_ ," he laughs, snapping his fingers knowingly, like he's just come up with the best idea known to men, "oh shit, oh fucking shit! I almost forgot I have a best friend looking like a freaking model straight from fucking Vogue! Zaynie, ladies and gents. Like,  _legit!_ "

At the mention of an unfamiliar name, Louis visibly stiffens, but he's quick to mask that just by musing over his own mug of tea, nodding to each of Harry's words, taking yet another sip as he continues to listen to Harry ramble.

Harry laughs and laughs and laughs. And Louis can't help laugh too. He signals a hand at Louis, as he adds, "Well, it's not like I'm saying that there's anyone else I find more attractive than you, yeah, babe? If anything, you look like a French model yourself, like—," he throws his arms around, eyes twinkling as he gets to his point in all this, the young  _sap_ , "—someone who would look handsome and fuckable with anything, any hairstyles,  _all that_ —"

"—Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome," Harry winks, dimpling like a right dork. "But I swear, Zayn Malik." He makes a show of shaking his head, grinning madly, face-palming himself.  

Zayn Malik, Harry mentions again, adding  _because he'll definitely turn our pap pics into some type of a modeling shoot, Lou! That's how much of godlike looking Zayn is!_  Well, Louis doesn't know a Zayn Malik, this is the only actual time Harry's ever said such name, but maybe he should set up a meeting for all of Harry's peers sooner rather than later if they are to marry one of these days. He stashes that idea at the back of his mind for now, under his 'plans for later' file.

Finally opting to change the subject, as he and Harry stand up to discard their mugs and chinas in the kitchen, Harry asks him, still the ever so enthusiastic conversation holder he is, "So anyway, what are we doing today, babe? By any chance, do you have any other appointments? How's work?" He leans over the counter, this ornate island they have smack dab in the middle of their spacious kitchen, just as he's handed over his mug.

Louis takes it, then proceeds with getting their emptied saucers of cupcakes in the dishwasher too, before turning back around to fix Harry a look. "Work is good, mon amour. Finished now, actually. I'm just waiting for Payne to call me if anything is still not in order."

"Oh, is that so," Harry muses, and then he's following Louis around the house like a lost little puppy. Always two steps behind him, this beautiful boy. Louis can't help smile down on his feet as they both go back to the living area. He pulls open the sliding door that connects to the outer part of the house, then steps out to head for the hammock. Harry strays by the entrance, and then he's saying. "Where's the exhibit being held then?"

At that, Louis grins. "About that. I've convinced my team that we do it in Cali when we were supposed to have it in Spain. Did not think for one second you would appreciate that, I'd say? So..." Shrugging, he adds as an afterthought, "Also, I remembered your sister and niece. Maybe they could care to join?"

Lighting up like those of stars being switched on right on top of Christmas trees, Harry instantly beams having fed that information, and the next thing Louis knows is he's charging towards him and almost knocking the air out of him as he wraps such long gangly arms around his unsuspecting body. " _Ohmigosh_ , Lou! That's brilliant! Wonderful, even! That means I can invite my other friends, too, right? This time 'round, yeah? Because I swear, the last two exhibits were a  _whack_ —," at this, he leans back to shoot Louis a sheepish grin, "—no offense, babe. It was all magical and grand and whoa and okay, over the fuckin' top, but like. Just that, I barely knew anyone, it was almost too sad."

"I know, babe..." Louis nods, hardly keeping a straight face now.

And Harry continues,

"And, like—even if technically I starred on all your marvelous, beautiful paintings of me, no one even dared to try and make conversations with me, and like, just, like, that kinda..." he squints at the word as he says, "...made it quite a bit  _boring_." He sighs, all dramatic and long-suffering, making Louis blink at him, getting amused by the second. Harry is rambling, again, and he knows that he's referring to the first and second art exhibits that Louis had prepared months back, both Harry-centric, the one with Coney Island and the mermaid theme, former held in Palm Springs, and the latter held in Minnesota. Louis finds it in himself to be emphatic towards the situation.

Harry paces around then, standing close to the edge of the railings and looking over the ocean. He points at the direction where Coney Island is at, then he beams at Louis again, "Honestly, Lou, I'd much rather we went back to my kingdom than go to another one of those press cons of mine. They also bore me to death!" He pouts, huffing. What are they talking about now again?

_Oh, right._

Catching himself off-guard, Louis laughs as he shakes his head. "Right. Old people's kind of thing and all that. Yeah, yeah, I get it." He concedes with Harry.

He watches on as Harry looks down at his hands, murmuring, "Yeah, that..." Then he's smiling widely again, hands balling into fists as he thrusts them into the air. "But, hey! Oh god! Finally! I can finally, maybe, enjoy it this time, yeah?  _For real_. The event. You just—you put so much efforts in them, Lou. You're so, so cool like that." He gushes, crouching right in front of Louis by the hammock.

Louis chuckles at the silly look on his face, one that's bordering on dorky. " _Merci_ , darling."

"Don't mention it," Harry blows a kiss towards him, causing Louis' face to heat up. Harry's too adorable. "Ohhh, I can just imagine. Zayn, Niall, and Ed—they will be coming, and we'll have booze, or—or wine, I suppose?" With that, he hums, putting a finger under his chin as a gesture that he's thinking. In the end he shrugs, is back to beaming again. "Hey, maybe we should also invite Valeria this time, what'd'ya say, Lou?"

Louis opens his mouth to say something, but Harry doesn't even let him utter out a word or two, as he thunders in full enthusiasm, "Great! I'll take that as a yes! Thanks so much, honeybunch! I love you!" He hugs Louis again, pressing a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek, and then he's skipping and bouncing as he retreats back inside the house, singing some high-pitched Vitas song (damn, Louis seriously knows that certain song?), leaving Louis agape and strung out.

And, like, wow, if Louis ever ran a hand across his face, shaking himself awake thinking about the absolute fact that he'll soon be married to a  _child_ , albeit a sexy and devilishly cheeky one at that, then no one has to know. It's just his own business and his own business alone.  _Heh_.

**~*~**

The rest of the day passes like a blur—blur wherein Louis and Harry spent grocery shopping, Harry wearing some odd attire right on top of it  _"for disguising purposes, Lou! Just in case," he'd slyly grinned_ , which had composed of some knitted scarf around his neck, still one of Louis' oversized hoodies, a blue green one this time, with some of Harry's old jeans-shorts, and some ratty white high cut converse, completely straying far away from his normal outfit of golden boots and skintight ripped jeans.

They fill their fridge to the brims, stocking it with some milk and veggies, for when Harry feels like cooking for the both of them, as well as some cold cuts of meat, pork, beef, and some fish. That includes them eating in, Harry googling some recipe online for their supper.

They end up cuddling on their bed afterwards, and now it's morning, Louis checks the time on the wall clock. It reads,  _8:27 AM._

There's a text message sent by Liam, saying,  ** _Louis, Preston arrivera avant midi. Prépares toi. J'ai déjà pris un vol pour vous deux, hier. L'avion d'école a 1 heure de l'après-midi, PST._**   **(** **Louis, Preston will arrive before noon. Get ready. Already booked a flight for the two of you yesterday. Plane is leaving at 1 in the afternoon, PST.)**  And that's enough for him to sit up, eyes darting to where Harry is supposedly still lying on his side of the bed, only to find it's empty.

As if on cue, Harry comes striding across the room, holding his phone and as he types something on it, before he's peering up to lock eyes with Louis. "Oh, hey. Good morning, sunshine." He smiles, bed sheet creases still visible across his cheek, already bringing some joy to Louis' half-awake state.

"Good morning, mon amour," he greets back.

"Brekkie?" Harry quips with a smirk, pocketing his phone. Louis only nods, and then they're traveling down the hallway, down to the round staircase.

**~*~**

"I've invited my friends to the event," Harry announces as soon as he finishes up with the dishes, turning around with his silly pigeon-toed feet, butt resting against the counter.

Nodding, Louis hops down on the stool. "Shall we then? Flight is in two hours."

"Already?!" Harry gawks, eyes wide.

Louis can't help laugh. " _Oui_ , my love."

"No fucking way!"

" _Yes_ fucking way," Louis singsongs, and then they're racing off against each other as they both sprint their way upstairs, laughing hysterically like wild children, Louis beating Harry at speed.

"Not fair," wheezes Harry once they reached the top, "you're smaller than I am. Means you're faster."

Louis shakes his head, surge of amusement fluttering in his stomach. "Played footie when I was in high school, doll," he supplies, meek and proud.

He sees Harry rolling his eyes. "Now that's just tad  _cheating_."

Louis reaches out and pinches Harry's cheek, resulting in the boy blushing furiously. "There, there," he teases, grinning. Harry swats his hand away, annoyed, but he has that tiny quirk on the corner of his mouth indicating he's just suppressing his own giggles. Louis can only laugh harder.

**~*~**

They change into their prepared attire for this event. Some dark blue pressed suit for Louis, dark blue necktie that Harry fixes for him, and some matching dark blue pants. Harry on the other hand is channeling some pastel pink floral matching suit, no ties, just some white frilly blouse as an inner outfit. So in the end, Louis didn't get any more texts from Liam, meaning everything is settled at the gallery, so Louis just leaves it at that.

Harry has been going off about how he's excited about this for the past thirty minutes, respectively, and Louis all the while doesn't miss the part where he's bending over to dust on his pink hologram boots, just so Louis can catch a sliver of that gold thong he was wearing.

Louis chokes on the sight, but before he can comment about it, there are multiple chimes of the doorbell sounding all coming from downstairs. He sighs, and then he's pulling Harry up with him, smoothing out their suits.

Preston greets them with a curt nod, to which they return to him, and then they're buckling up to head to the airport. They find themselves on the plane after an hour, Harry behaving now, just resting his head on Louis' shoulder, and then the next thing they know they're landing at LAX.

They make it at noon time. Louis hails them a cab and they both clamber inside it. The event itself is being held in Sacramento, which is situated in the city, a perfect spot for mills of people. Normally, Louis would suggest Long Beach or San Francisco. But his team thought otherwise and Louis has no choice other than to trust his people to decide on what's best, and just go along with it.

Approximately later in the afternoon, they reach the event. Like the usual, to which Louis has been timely accustomed to, there are a lot of people in jewelries. It's what he's called them in his head. Because that's just exactly what they are— _people in jewelries_. He isn't mocking the idea, however. In fact, Louis is grateful that such exists. He knows if it wasn't for them, he wouldn't be where he is now. A well-groomed plutocrat. He's happy that they spend thousands of dollars on his works, thanks.

The place is huge, as it is, huger than the previous one,  ** _A Mermaid's Dream_** , but not as huge as Harry's first ever though. His masterpieces are placed at every corner of the gallery, on every wall, appearing before everyone's eyes with their every turn, and it's marvelous. Drinks and food come as they should, caterers and waiters going to and fro, and Louis with his chin held high strides with ease with Harry by his side.

He greets people at the right times as they stand in the middle of it all, smiling and nodding his gratitude, welcoming and warm and thankful. And throughout it, he's got Harry behaving excellently next to him, just grinning sweetly at people and thanking them for coming too. At some point, Louis sees some of his colleagues, waving them over for some brief chats.

Then he bumps hips with his best mate, Nick, later, who's also at the event, all by himself it seems, just nursing some glass of wine. The man just never misses an exhibit, even buys some of Louis' works for him.

" _Tu es venu, pourquoi cela ne me surprends pas ?_  (You came, why am I not surprised?)" Louis jokes as soon as they meet halfway, gathering Nick in his arms for a hug.

Nick in turn playfully rolls his eyes, hugging Louis back. " _T'as vu ça? Tous ces grands événements mais aucun hommes divorcés disponible pour me séduire. Ils sont tous venus avec leur femme ! Putain d'abomination. Je devrais peut-être partir._ (I know, right? All these high-end events with absolutely zero available divorced men to sweep me off my feet. Every single one of them came with their wives! Fucking abomination. Perhaps I should just leave.)" He turns his body away, chugging down the rest of his wine.

" _Roh, arrêtes tes conneries_ (Oh, come off it)," Louis laughs at him. Some things never change.

At that, Nick waves him off, and then he's going for Harry's embrace next.

And Louis watches this. Quietly witnesses with pride as his Del Rey and Nick wrap around each other, Nick dwarfing Harry a little. He doesn't miss the part where Nick slaps Harry's bum as they part, teasing him about how he's all famous now, a  _rockstar_ , to which Harry has blushed about as he murmured to kindly correct like the silly youngster he is,  _indie rockstar_ , followed by a polite  _thanks_.

Louis snickers to himself, amused by the exchange between them, and until suddenly there are arms wrapping themselves around his waist from behind, startling him. He turns around immediately, and, oh. " _Freya, quelle agréable surprise._ (Freya, what a pleasant surprise.)"

" _Hey, papa._  (Hey, dad.)" She beams. And then she waves at Harry. "Hey, future dad!" She giggles.

Harry grins, too, dimples denting his blushing cheeks. "Hi, future daughter! Even when technically we're of the same age!" They both laugh, and Louis wills himself not to choke on his spit. Nick might have caught his shook reaction, perhaps that's why he comes to Louis' rescue and pats pitifully at his back. Louis scowls at him, causing Nick to laugh away, smug and being, as per usual, _a little shit._

Louis collects himself up, pulling at his tie before clearing his throat and shooting a question at his daughter. " _T'es donc venu toute seule, chérie ?_  (You came all by yourself, then, chérie?)"

She's sipping on a glass of champagne as she answers with a gulp, " _Non, papa. Je suis avec Theo._  (No, dad. I'm with Theo.)"

" _C'est qui ce Theo?_  (Who's Theo?)" Louis raises an eyebrow, watching as his daughter's eyes roam around, as if looking for someone over the crowd.

" _Mon petit ami, papa._  (My boyfriend, dad.)" At hearing that, Louis sighs, but then Freya is wiggling her finger at him, " _Non, non, sois gentille. Je vais te le présenter._  (Now, now, you be good. I'm going to introduce him to you.)"

" _Est-ce que Phil est au courant ?_ (Does Phil know about this?)"

" _Oui, papa. Et il était d'accord. Et de plus, je gère avec mes études, donc._ (Yes, dad. And he was okay with it. And besides, I'm doing awesome with my studies, so.)" She boasts, pride in her crystal blue eyes, hands at each her hips.

Louis hums in consideration. " _Okay. Où est ce Theo alors ?_  (Fine. Where's this Theo then?)"

Looking around the place with his daughter, Louis takes in the sight of the event going in full swing. Liam isn't here yet, that one's true. Louis wonders when will Harry's friends arrive though. Seeing the unfaltering smile Harry is carrying, however, Louis deems they're still coming and he's not getting ditched.

Minutely, Louis meets a guy named Theo. Freya's boyfriend. He's tall for one, broader too one may say, and he sports a jet-black hair, some dark shades of hazel eyes and pointed nose and wide smile; he looks quite Italian to Louis. Freya tells him he's half-British, half-Italian though. Well, at least Louis is partly correct.

Louis thinks he's an okay dude. He praises Louis a lot, gawks when he spots Harry too. "Hey, you're Harry Styles!" He chimes, eyes twinkling under the chandelier lights. Harry sheepishly smiles, nodding. Louis sees a faint blush creeping on his cheeks. "You're that famous singer, aren't you, lad? You're really good at singing. Wow."

"Uh, yeah," Harry mumbles, shying away behind Louis.

Theo offers a hand. "Well, I'm a fan, me," he tells Harry, smiling kindly.

Harry takes his hand and they shake. "Awesome, man."

 _Man_. Louis refrains from cackling.

It's nearing nighttime when Harry's friends arrive. And by that time, Louis has managed to welcome more guests in, doctors, lawyers, and politicians alike, congratulating him and Harry for another job well done. Curators assist them and tell them stories behind painting after painting, whilst waiters serve them drinks, and that's where Louis always gets to make his escape to spare himself some more introductions, per usual, and in no time he's grabbing the opportunity to go where Harry and the others are.

Just like how Harry had described Zayn Malik to him yesterday, that's exactly how Louis also sees him for himself. Some exotically, brooding model-worthy of a guy with chill seeming persona, fashionable stubble dusting his chin, impressive jaw lines that could cut, and eyes gleaming hazels. Harry introduces them, side-eyeing Louis smugly as if to say,  _ha, what I told you, honey?_ Louis dismisses him with a sort of fond shake of the head, and together he and Zayn are greeting one another.

"Good to finally meet you, Louis. Heard so much about you from Harry." Zayn smiles, and it's an easy one. Louis is quick to warm up to him because of that.

"Only wonderful things, I hope?" Louis teases, clasping Zayn's hand as they shake.

Zayn grins. "Absolutely."

Louis meets the others next. "Babe, this is Niall." Harry says, pulling on the arm of a blonde guy who's looking like he's busied himself with pouring some champagne in his glass, to which he downs in one go, wiping at his mouth unceremoniously, stance and body movements wise carefree. Louis nods in amusement having seen all that, glad to know the quirks of Harry's friends to be quite... simple. Juvenile, but lambent. 

Another tug on the arm of the guy, and he's finally acknowledging Harry with a startled look. "Huh?"

Harry hisses to him, a bit embarrassed now, "I said, you frump, meet my fiancé."

Addressed like that, Louis comes forward to shake this Niall boy's hand, amused at best. The blonde boy is at least swift with his movement, like he has been brought back to the now, meeting Louis' hand halfway. "Oh, hey! Louis Tomlinson, right?"  _And oh._

"You're Irish?" Louis quips, surprised.

Niall grins. " _Ayye!_ Way too obvious, innit? It's the accent, I swear." He laughs. Calm and loud. Louis likes Harry's friends already. "Nice t'meet'cha, mate."

Louis laughs too, delighted. "Pleasure's on me, Niall."

The moment Louis is shaking hands with the last one, Ed he said his name is, who has an alarmingly shocking mop of ginger hair giving instantly away he's not American himself as well—with chubby arms littered with colorful tattoos that actually triply impresses Louis if he's honest—this guy whom Harry also supplies was a co-performer of his back in Velvety Roses, that's when Liam arrives with a panic facial expression in the scene, Louis getting caught off-guard as he's ushered by the lad who's wincing his way through their tiny circle, letting them both stop at one side of the event. Louis tilts his head sideways, taking in the sight of Liam looking quite distressed.

" _Il y a un problème, Li?_  (Problem, Li?)" He asks, willing himself to stay calm.

Liam blows out a puff of air, running a hand across his face. He's wearing a suit too, all-black with a glossy looking fabric as his necktie that's correspondent to his entire attire, and some leather shoes to go that by. Louis patiently waits for him to tell him something. Anything. And until he does, hissing, " _Oui, Lou. Un très gros._ (Yes, Lou. Massive one.)"

Louis narrows his gaze at that. " _À quel point?_  (How big?)" He mutters, not liking this one bit. He needs Liam to spit it the fuck out. " _De quoi s'agit-il ?_  (What is it?)"

Like the usual manic guy he is, always stressing and overreacting,  _a true mother hen_ , Liam, he begins pacing. " _Louis. Les gens—ils ne sont pas— ils ne sont plus satisfait._   (Louis. The people—they're not— they aren't happy anymore.)"

_What does that mean?_

" _Qu'est-ce que t'entends par là ?_ (What do you mean?)"

" _Ce que je viens de te dire, Lou. Les gens ne sont plus satisfait. Avec.... avec Harry._  (What I said, Lou. The people are not happy anymore. With... with Harry.)"

"Harry?" At the mention of his beau, Louis is fast to crane his neck to look back at the crowd, eyes roaming to seek for the head of curls of his precious darling Del Rey over bodies and heads of shimmering people with jewelries chattering about, heart lurching painstakingly on his throat. He mumbles back to Liam, worry now etched in his voice. " _C'est à dire?_ (What about him?)"

" _Eh bien... ils disent qu'ils veulent un nouveau sujet, Lou, sinon on perdra des investisseurs et du profits. En plus de l'argent jeté par les fenêtres. Ça ne marche plus désormais._ (Well... they said they want a new subject, Lou, otherwise we'll lose profits and investors. Money down the drain. It's not working anymore.)"

Oh.

Louis can't breathe.  _Is that so?_

Harry's happy, innocent laughter is something he can hear at a distance.

" _Et, uh... ils demandent un nouveau mannequin, Lou. Ils en ont marre du concept homosexuel et ils veulent donc un mannequin féminin pour ton prochain projet, celui qui suit._  (And, uh... they are demanding a new model, Lou. They're tired of same-sex concepts and wants a female model on your upcoming project, one that's next in line.)"

In his periphery, Louis can see Harry smiling and mingling with his friends, looking painfully happy as he carries himself so free... so free that it makes Louis  _ache_.

"To Harry!" Zayn and Niall cheer, and they thrust a toast towards Harry, who said something that made Niall pinch his nose and tease, "Oh,  _you_ and your LA crass..." with Ed just grinning behind the rim of his own glass of champagne in their background, and—and Louis can't breathe.

He can already imagine the crumbling face of his fiancé once he delivers this stupid news.

As if Liam's lost him back there, he murmurs softly in inquiry, almost making Louis jump, "Louis...?"

And fuck. Just fuck it.

Done for the night, Louis in the end suspends into nodding his head. "Okay." And then he's leaving Liam standing there without another word.

He needs to talk to Harry about this soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh finally! there you go, chapter two! thank you for reading! tell me what you think please :D don't be a silent reader ahaha! who do you suppose will be the female model?? will harry get jealous!?!?! ha!
> 
> song for this chapter is beautiful people, beautiful problems by the queen herself ♡
> 
> dedicating this chappie to my babe noora who did the french translations! she's the best :D


	3. Darlin', Darlin', Darlin', I Fall To Pieces When I'm With You ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. sorry if there would be mistakes along the way haha. im kinda lazy to proofread yet. but im excited to post, so. here ya go!!

♡♡♡♡

"Go on then, bub. Go to your uncle Hazza." Harry immediately picks up on Gemma's all-too-familiar voice as soon as he gets out of the white limo (white because that's kind of their thing now, he and his fiance; him, white, Louis, black) that Louis has rented out for him to give him a ride back home—here in their house in Beverly Hills, Louis' once property alone to himself that Harry now owns as well by binding legal papers—his sister instructing her four-year old daughter to come forth and greet him.

Harry is quick to remove his sunglasses that are supposed to shield his eyes away from the scorching sunbeams, as he crouches down with his arms spread open wide, all ready to welcome the pretty toddler in his arms. "Althea!" He chirps loudly, warm and all the while present, happy to be lunged at by the bundle of joy and rather ball of shyness that is his niece. He scoops her up easily to her tiny feet clad with pastel yellow doll shoes with ribbons on each of them, embracing her in a mild way, too worried to tighten his hold around her small body, no matter if she's a little chubbier now than the last time he's seen of her looking quite fragile and frail.

"Harry! Mish'you!" Comes her shrill voice, filling in Harry's right ear where her mouth is nearby as he carries her in his arms, making him giggle himself, and whoa, okay, so she didn't just gain weight then, Harry realizes just as he's almost dropped her for how heavy she's become, and. Well, well, well. That's not the only thing that's changed in her apparently, for she also became more enthusiastic than she used to be a year ago, quiet and always seeming curious to what was happening to her surroundings. Which were the adult things.

Well, kids for you. God, how Harry loves kids. Loves all children, loves all cute things in this world full of hatred and misogyny. (Sheesh.)

Perhaps Harry should front to Louis this sort of topic some time soon, eh? The talk about having kids with him. Ha. Harry can only imagine how Louis would react though... He'd probably shit his pants, putting the tangle of mess they're still in, into consideration.

He wonders what Louis will say if he suddenly whined to him about wanting to have some little Louis' and little Harrys in one of their many houses, what with the whole dilemma they are facing at the moment. Harry with his boosting up career where he isn't allowed to go out in public yet with a lover, much less a fiance that he plans on spending the rest of his life with, and then with Louis and his hectic type of schedule—always one to chase papers, "It's for our future, darling," he would always reason out to Harry whenever the topic arises—and meetings that require him to go overseas, out of town, and just miles and miles away from his loved ones, and not come home to Harry for  _months_. For fucking months, shit, that. Being in the middle of all this; work, career, and being a closeted engaged Indie Rock Singer on top of that, how exactly does Harry even begin with such talk with Louis? Huh?

Well, fuck.

Fuck, indeed, it's too early for this shit. Harry hasn't even processed the fact that he's just in his ratty old tee shirt and two-day old ripped jeans, in spite of himself! Despite he knows just who he is now to the masses. When he's fully and utterly aware that a fan might recognize him, right this minute with his hair all greasy, forgot to shower this morning before checking out from the hotel in Sacramento, and that the talk about him might even get out in the public, going something like this,  _oh, look at that rising star Harry Styles, who knows he'd be sleazy and unattractive in person?_  Fuck. Harry probably needs some freshly brood coffee right now and maybe some Midol for his worsening headache. Why is he thinking about such foolish thing this soon? Too much too soon. He and Louis aren't even married to start with, for Elvis' sake, and he himself knows just why the hell is that.

Fuck. And, there it is again, his hangover is killing him. Too early for such, definitely.

Harry inwardly sighs. At least Althea's angelic, youthful scent is bringing comfort to his senses. Maybe he'll focus on that.

Pinching Althea's button nose, Harry coos at her gently, "I mish'you, too, little one," attempting at mimicking her way of speaking.  _Baby talk._

Baby talk with Louis.

Harry mentally curses himself in his head.  _Shut up, Styles. Fuck's sake._

Choosing to carry his niece in his arms while he marches toward the front porch, Harry meets Gemma right at the entrance door of his and Louis' home, drinking in the state of his sister who looks like she's been inside the household for quite some time now, just in her simple brown shirt and white mini shorts, some flip-flops and with the absence of shoes.

"Hey, bro," she greets around a grin, waving a hand at them, making Harry grin too, aware of how his dimples are out, matching his sister's owns.

"Heya, sis!"

The limo behind Harry pulls away from the driveway before Harry can even usher both Gemma and his niece inside the spacious white house, and he smiles to himself remembering the chauffeur was already paid the day prior, so that makes for the part where he hasn't the need to worry about it at all. The grand staircase at the center greets Harry the minute he walks in, together with the huge chandelier that's hanging in all its glory from the ceiling, and,  _ah, it's good to be home in LA_ , one of his most cherished cities in the country, besides Brooklyn.

     

He puts down Althea and lets her walk by herself then, the three of them going further inside the house. Or mansion. Harry lightly snorts to himself, feeling fuzzy all the sudden and perhaps a bit giddy, the memory of how he'd been first greeted by this exact same look on this place, then the part where he was instantaneously overwhelmed, coming to mind. He had gaped at the extraordinary place, for obvious reasons, while he had marveled on how his silly crush is nay over-the-top, having a mansion as his shelter and that entire sort. But of course this is a mansion. Louis Tomlinson bought this, didn't he? So it has to be.

In a matter of seconds, Valeria is eventually coming in to view, with that formal maid attire of her, black and white adorning one another, the old woman with her originally gray hair recently dyed into a natural black (wow, the color suits her perfectly, Harry must say, she looks younger!) already smiling warmly at their announced arrival. She bows her head the moment Harry is finally just two-steps away from her, but once she straightens up again, Harry quickly engulfs her in for hug. And at first, the old maid is stiffening in Harry's arms, but that's until Harry has whispered to her, "So glad to be back here, miss V..." and just like that her body is loosening up. She's hugging Harry back, and then she's murmuring some French words that Harry doesn't understand, sadly. But trusting Louis' judgment with the old woman to be kind and caring and sometimes even motherly towards Louis, since he'd hired her when he was only a  _teen_ , Harry guesses he's fine. He trusts that she said something that he will appreciate, so. He lets it go. Just like how he parts away from their embrace.

"Gems, you've met miss V?" Harry turns to Gemma then, one who's saying something to her daughter, being that the little girl is pulling at the hem of her shirt asking for something.

Putting her attention towards Harry, Gemma makes a face at him as if he'd said something offensive. "Why of course, H, I have!" she supplies with a laugh, "we're neighbors, aren't we?"

And, right. Of course. Harry grins widely. "Well, good. Saves me the hassle of intros. I'm not that fluent in French." He rolls his eyes, begrudging, no heat upon it however. Then flicking his gaze to where Althea is looking rather impatient now, Harry moves forward and takes her hand, then they start to walk along the hallway that will lead them to the pool at the back.

The toddler peers up at him, all the while as she pulls out the thumb from her mouth that she's been suckling; Harry notices quickly, just as he does the same looking down at her. She points. "Mimming?" And, whatever that means. Harry only nods at her, reaching down to pinch her chubby cheek.

"Yes, bub, yes."

Valeria from behind them is chatting with Gemma, mixture of friendly smiles and hand gestures alike. Well, they must be close now. Sucks that Harry didn't go to college at all, thus he never had the opportunity to learn French. Gemma on the other hand though was lucky enough to have a go herself, thanks to her rich ex-husband. Hmm. Maybe Harry should consider going back to school too, eh? Now that he has the money and can support himself. It's never too late, right?

But maybe after he's satisfied with the progress of his career. One step at time.

**~*~**

The sun is very present today whereas the clouds aren't serving as shades, and they're all by the pool having lunch. Valeria has cooked some meal for them, while Gemma helped out in the kitchen.

Harry and Althea have gone for a swim, Harry happily teaching (but failing) his niece how with some strokes he knows, although the giggly toddler has only been a tad bit interested with a couple of them, later on suspending into just kicking around in the water more than actually learning and Harry thinks that's quite alright. She's still adorable as ever. She has Harry just carrying her throughout, while they laugh and splash about.

It's Chicken Basquaise, Tarte Flambée, Steak Diane and some Onion Soup that they have for lunch, then a plate of Cherry Gateau Basque for dessert, and wow, just wow. Even their names sounded yummy. Harry's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets for how they're immensely remarkable! Harry must say, he  _must_  moan out within large chews how delicious they melted on his tongue, and so that's what exactly he does as he squishes the old woman in his arms after finishing his lunch with an embarrassing burp. Now he understands just why Louis never let go of Valeria. The woman is a splendid cook!

After they savor their ungodly food, Althea goes back to the pool, and this time it's her mother that accompanies her, since Harry is on his phone, trying to call up Louis.

He has his thumb and index finger pinching at his lips, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he waits for his fiance to pick up.

The man flew back to Paris with his right hand man Liam, said they have business proposal to sort out. It was a low blow, and Harry's heart was stuck on his mouth, feeling quite alone already even when technically, Louis was still in the hotel room with him at the time. He handed Harry his black card meanwhile, giving him full authority to 'spend with it whatever you may want, take your sister and niece out' and Harry was the moody baby he is as he scoffed, albeit jokingly, petulantly crossing his arms against his chest, muttering  _"you're just bribing me now so you can go wherever whenever you want"_ to which Louis had only dodged so smoothly reasoning out it was for their future together that's why he's working his ass off hard. Harry in the end had conceded just as soon as Louis had promised to sex him up, right after they had a steaming one at that.

So now Harry is stuck (well, he didn't mean to treat it that way, because if any, he truly is enjoying himself as it is) with his sister and niece for the next upcoming days, with Valeria on top of that, because yes, he'll be staying here in house number one for awhile considering it's closer to Hollywood and Harry is a dorky sap like that. (He likes to imagine himself dancing on the platform of the famous sign itself, that particular one over the hills, maybe even go naked on top of the letter H. Because H is a good letter and H just so happened to be the first letter in Harry's name so for him it also stands for Harry. So there.)

After the exhibit held in Sacramento, Harry's decided he'll spend his break here, with no traces of hesitation whatsoever because aside from he misses Gemma and Althea (he hasn't seen them in months), he all but rebuked the idea of staying by himself in Brooklyn, cause like, doing what exactly...? Staring at white walls and spending some alone time on the hammock that Louis seems to love so much just so he could miss him some more? Watch films that he and Louis love to watch together? But this time it will be just him? Yeah, no thanks. Doesn't matter that he and Louis recently just filled their fridge with food that might turn sour for the next few days should they refuse to attend to those. Harry isn't staying there all by himself, he refuses to, especially not when the pillows and their bed still smell like Louis.

It's an impossible task altogether and Harry's learned before that it could ruin his mood and vibe, so no. He prefers that he lives with a light heart and that's a choice he can easily partake in, therefore he is.

A few more rings then, and Harry finally hears some shuffling sound on Louis' end, and then there's a soft, " _Mon petit_ , hello."

And, just like that, from frowning, Harry's smiling. "Lou-lou."

"What's made you call, love?" asks Louis. And, yeah, what's made Harry call anyway? Didn't he and Louis just part this morning? Well.

"Just want to ask if you're in Paris now," Harry supplies, doesn't really know what he wants.

"Oh, yes. Me and Liam, we just reached."

"Oh, cool. Uhm. I will see you in a couple days, yeah?"

" _Oui, mon amour._ "

"Okay," Harry breathes out, "just making sure."

There's laughter bubbling up from Louis' end, and then Harry hears some French verbally ringing through wherever Louis may be right now. "Listen, Harry. I may have to let this call cut short. Preston is dropping us off at the office. Meeting with curators and collectors. But, I will call you later?"

Not one to push anything further, not really in the mood as the sun above him is being a sodding bitch, Harry then just says, "Alright, babe. I'll wait for your call." Then a pause, before he adds, "Don't work yourself too much, 'kay?"

"I won't, darling, I promise."

"Mmkay. Bye, babe."

"Bye, beautiful."

Harry pulls the phone away from his face and stares at the screen where it shows that the call has ended. He sighs to himself, feeling kind of sad now that he's not hearing his fiance's voice, and will not until later like the older man has promised. Then again, that quickly vanishes when he suddenly remembers he can dial his friends' numbers and invite them all here. Hell yes.

With stars in his eyes, he's pretty sure there is, perhaps at least one, Harry rings Zayn first. When he answers with a sleepy groggy voice of, "Hullo?" Harry rushes to tell him to  _not_  hang up, and  _wait up_ , while he dials Niall's number next. Once the Irish boy accepts his call, Harry also orders him to stay in the line, while he sets up the call in a three-way one.

_There._

"You still in Cali, Harold?" Niall is asking once that is over.

"Yessiree!" Harry immediately chirps, giggling against the receiver. At the corner of his eye, Harry can see how Gemma and Althea now are playing volleyball by the pool—although it's more of Gemma throwing the ball and making her daughter laugh from where the little girl stays at one corner, hand clasped around the marble, not attempting to go in the middle lest she drowns. Cute. They look cute. Valeria probably showed them where the beach ball is. Meanwhile, Harry hears Niall whistling from his end and that brings him to his reason of calling, "Hey, so, I've just been thinking, since I'll be staying here during my break, I can hangout with you guys. Come by to my house! Just tell the address to a cab driver, then I'll pay when you get here."

"Mr. Rockstar all rich and big now, eh?" Niall teases. Harry blushes at that. "Still can't believe you're all famous now!"

He rolls his eyes, flattered to his bones. "Oh, please, Nialler. None of that! You're making me all flustered here." He pouts while Niall laughs. "See, it's just...you know, considering I'm the one who's asking for some company, then might as well pay for the necessities."

"Right, of course, of course." Mirthful, huh. The bastard. Well, that just causes Harry to whine.

"Stop! Just come to my house now. I'm bored." Harry picks at his hand where his fingers are pruning up. He's been out of the pool for some time now, his hair is drying, crispy and tangled.

"Why, what's up?" It's Zayn asking now, clear in his just-woke-up voice that he's confused and at the same time taken off-guard. Harry is too consumed with his excitement to care though.

"Lou is back in Paris. No one to fool around here with. So. Need I say more, Zaynie? Come visit poor Hazza!"

"Sheesh, fine, fine."

And the call ends after some time. After the two have agreed to come by, that is. Harry stands up from the pool chair and tells his sister that he'll be having his friends over, so he needs to wash up. Gemma nods his way, and so he's marching back inside the house.

**~*~**

It's nearing evening when Niall and Zayn finally appear at his door, and by that time, his sister and niece have gone home, Harry's all showered up and squeaky clean now, jogging outside and paying for their rented cabs.

They're in one of the guest rooms, Harry not wanting to use his and Louis' bedroom for he deems it  _sacred_ , is against the idea of trashing the love nest vibe of it by him and his friends. They're sharing a pot right at this moment, Harry laughing his ass off as he tells them the silly story of how he's once smoked a spliff with Louis and Louis called the cops on him just to search for his whereabouts when he opted to leave the hotel room. Niall is doubling over in laughter as Harry gets to the part where he saw the look on Louis' face when he eventually told him he was just out shopping for some ingredients for brownies and fudges.

"Fuckin' hell," Niall wheezes, obviously high now, clutching on his chest. This weed they're sharing, it's from Zayn. He brought them some, making joints like he's so memorized to do many times in the past. This is the only drug Harry can really take, not the one Louis handed him ages ago that had put him in the hospital, some story that he has zero plans to share to this bunch, that.

"Louis must've been so stumped, man," Zayn tells Harry, laughing too. He takes a long drag out of the joint in between his fingers, before he's passing it over to Harry.

"He was," Harry confirms, nodding along to the beat of the song that's playing in the background.  _Bulletproof by La Roux._ Such an empowering song.

By the time they're almost out of weed, that's when Valeria comes knocking on the door. Harry calls for her to come in; she's carrying a tray balancing some plates of muffins and glasses of strawberry juice. Harry gladly accepts, saying his thanks, then she's placing it on top of the table at the center of the room. Niall is quick to snatch one muffin for himself, taking a huge bite out of it, just as Zayn follows suit. Valeria exits the room, closing the door quietly after her.

"This is such a huge house, Haz, honestly," comments Niall between chews, eyes roaming around the area.

"Yeah. Stuffy, mansion-like and all that," Zayn agrees.

Harry blows a sigh, taking one strawberry juice for himself. "Oh, you should see house number two and house number three..." he mutters against the rim of the glass.

"House what?" Niall squawks, eyes wide in question.

Harry scratches at the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks heating up, propping one leg over the other where he sits by the bed. "Err, just... kinda named them like that, so I won't confuse myself—"

"Yeah, no, that's not what I'm tryin' to get at here, mate. It's the part where you just filled us with the fact you have two more houses aside from this... this fuckin'  _cathedral_."

     

Cathedral... Seriously, Niall.

"Well, you wouldn't believe if I tell you we're having another one."

"So, what,  _four_   _houses?_ " Zayn raises an eyebrow.

At the quiz thrown, Harry suddenly feels as if he's a criminal being interrogated here. Is it too much if he tells them, "Yes?"

And, just as he's predicted, Niall once and for all bursts out, his pale face reddening as if he's restrained from loud, massive laughter that's mixed with indignation, "What the fuck! What are you guys on about here? Does Louis have some type of— oh, I don't fucking know, an entire community as his relatives? Why in the fuck are you guys buying so much houses?!"

Well, did Harry ever know the answer to that?

Sheepish now more than any, he muses out, "For vacations? That's a thing, right?"

Zayn chokes on his muffin, wildly amused himself. "For vacations," he deadpans.

"Yeah. You know, for traveling purposes. We're just being practical here, ya' know. Avoiding having the need to rent hotel rooms..."

Right at this point, Niall has stood up to his feet and begins pacing around the place, looking at the paintings on the walls and checking out some Greek inspired figurines over the shelves. He faces Harry, and he all but lets out loud chuckles. "Ha-ha-ha!  _Insaaane_ , the pair of you. All loved up and licit. Fucking swear."

Harry pouts at that; he pouts and he crosses his arms against his chest, his glass of juice empty on the table. " _Meh!_  Shouldn't be any of your business, you two! And to answer your question earlier, Niall, no, Louis has no relatives. Well, not that I know of. He has a daughter, an ex-husband, but aside from that, he didn't say any more. All I know is he was from a Foster's home. Never mentioned any parents."

Niall hums, nodding. Then he's fixing Harry a look, crystal blue eyes shining with something. Well. That doesn't seem good. "So, you mean to say... you guys are engaged, well, no, scratch that. Practically husbands, married, spouses, and yet—you have not much of info about him? Fucking unbelievable, that."

Mouth dropping, completely appalled (or really, Harry's just a drama queen like that; he doesn't give a fudge), Harry scrunches his brows at his Irish, inquisitive friend. "Hey, don't be rude now. What matters here is that we love each other, okay? And Louis, I know him. He'll tell me anything and everything, won't dare to hide things from me. He'll open up to me if he thinks it's necessary. I don't wanna go off on him asking questions. Don't want to annoy him. He's busy enough as it is. I'll take what I can get."

"Let him be, Ni," Zayn speaks up after some time of not doing so, "What do you know about these things anyway, you haven't had a girlfriend in years."

_Ha! Right in the fucking face!_

"I did to!" Niall exclaims, face red.

Zayn is unperturbed, just sipping some more off his glass of juice. "Yeah, who?"

Niall clicks his tongue, then he's deep in thinking. "Uhhh..." He gets nothing and Harry feels like laughing out loud this time, be taunting. Payback is a bitch!

"Ka-ka-ka-karma," Harry singsongs, sticking a tongue out at Niall when he shoots him a glare.

"You don't fool us, Horan," mutters Zayn, and Harry couldn't agree more.

"Hey!"

And Niall is tackling Zayn on the bed before Harry can even blink back the high over his heavy eyelids, the two of them being all goofy as they wrestle each other between puffs of breath and laughter. Harry soon joins in, can't really help himself if he tried.

**~*~**

Before he goes to bed that night, his best friends housing the room next to his and Louis' bedroom, doing God knows what, Harry does receive a call from Louis. As promised. And it's even a video call.

It's all well and dandy at first, Louis filling him in with how his day has gone so far, then Harry sharing with him the news of Niall and Zayn being here right now, in his expense, until they both quiet down with the intros and Harry's settled under the comforters.

In seconds flat, Louis' facial expression becomes unreadable. Harry notices the bags under his eyes, his lips pressed closed as he inhales sharply.

More or less, Louis looks like he's been stressing... Stressing over something and seeming quite sad.

"Wish you were here, Harry, I miss you."

"Me too, babe." Harry sighs, longing as he watches Louis over the screen of his iPhone. In a heart beat, he tells him, quiet and hopeful, "But we'll see each other in three days, yeah?"

"Yes..." Louis is looking down on the ground. Harry can see he's in his work clothes right now, hair longer than ever, wearing his midnight blue necktie. Harry waits for him to say something, but the silence between them is becoming a stretch. Harry realizes that maybe Louis is just waiting for him to hangup now.

"Louis—"

"Uh, darling—"

"Oh," Harry mumbles. "You go ahead."

Louis doesn't open his mouth. He's just staring at Harry. Harry's heart is slowly crawling up his throat. What is up with him?

Alas, Louis opens his mouth, and he mutters, a bit stuttering, "Uhm... nothing, I— I love you, I just wanted to say."

Harry closes his eyes. "I love you too."

"Sleep tight, Harry, yes?"

"Yes, honey."

The video call ends.

**~*~**

As soon as the sun rises, birds chirping outside the windowsill erupting waking him up, Harry stretches his arms wide. And he drops his feet on the carpeted floorboards, padding across the room and out of it. He heads for the guest room where he knows his mates are still sleeping.

He bursts through the door. "Rise and shine, honeybees!"

Niall groans, while Zayn pries his eyes open, both jumping at the loudness of Harry. "What the hell, Harry," Niall grumbles out.

"What the hell, indeed, boy!" Harry cheers.

"What're you waking us up for?" Zayn asks, sleep-rumpled and sporting a bed-head, eyes hazy, but still looking gorgeous. The little shit.

"Oh, well, just wanted to say that we're all flying out of the country and going to Lou's," Harry informs, beaming wide and feeling ecstatic, aware that his dimples are out. He just thought about this idea, is the thing, before he drifted off to sleep last night and he thinks he's a genius.

"When?" Zayn is sitting up on bed now, pushing the duvet off of him, while Niall stays where he is, which is at the far corner of the bed, almost hanging off the edge. Harry briefly marvels on if he'd fall off...

But before he can think about that any more, he answers Zayn, "In two days."

Zayn's eyes are suddenly wide open and he looks like he's all awake now. Good. Great even. Harry's starving and he maybe wants companies while he savors more of Valeria's brilliant cooking. "That soon?" Zayn asks, looking shocked.

"Yeah, Z." He grins, nodding happily. "It's in Paris, by the way."

"Paris?" Niall quips up next, shooting up from his position in bed. His bleached blonde hair is sticking up in hundred different directions and Harry can't help but bite out a laugh.

"Yes, Nialler. So I say wear you best clothes as it is the City of Love. Might just bumped into the love of your life, you'll never know." He winks at that. Zayn grins as he flicks his gaze to where Niall is blinking rapidly, blanket creases denting his flushed cheeks. He's a funny sight.

"Whoa."

"Whoa," Harry echoes. Then he claps. "Right then. Meet you guys downstairs. I'll be in the kitchen. Let's have some brekkie!"

**~*~**

Zayn and Niall went home after lunch, and Harry's been sitting here at the press con that his team has set up for him weeks ago, bored to his mind if he's honest with himself. Sure, he's a star now, a celebrity in the name of music, but he never thought it would be this terrible when it comes to other things that ensue the type of career he's gotten himself into. All he wants is to perform and make songs, not answer questions that are, quite frankly, rather invading and sometimes even offensive.

Regardless, Harry still complies and answers each and every question thrown his way, not missing a beat, nodding his head at the right times and staying as polite as he can. He wouldn't want Linda, his PR manager, yelling at him at all. She's never done it, aside from that one time he and Louis got... locked. Oh, how he still cringes at the memory of that in his head.

"How old are you now, Harry?"  _This is a question they are meaning to ask? No shit?_

Smiling sweetly, Harry simply tells them, "I'm twenty-two. Just turned back in February." He sees reporters and secretaries, with fans as well, scribbling on their notepads after he's said that.

"Since when did you start writing songs?"  _Very well then! Something Harry would gladly humor!_

"Since I was sixteen. Oh, wait. I believe since I was fourteen, actually. I remember already having a keen with songwriting during my Freshman year, when I had my heart broken. Then after a year, I just started piquing an interest with playing the guitar and jotting down words. The miserable, sultry kind. My track Lolita was the first ever I wrote."

There's a round of  _ooh's_ and  _aahh's_  before the next person squeezes a question in, "Do you have a special someone right now? A girlfriend?"

"Or a boyfriend?" Cuts in another person. Harry is rooting for that person, whoever they may be.

However, at the mention of love life, Harry can't help but feel hot at the face, the image of his fiance flashing before his eyes. He suddenly looks at the direction of where his handlers are standing by, Linda shaking her head at him, mouthing  _just make something up._

Swallowing, Harry says, "No. I... I'm single. I'm really not looking for any romance right now, just wanna focus on my music."

_Scribbles, scribbles, scribbles._

"Where did you get the inspiration to write such sultry lyrics?"

Harry hums, and he knows just what the answer to that is. To be quite bold with himself, Harry got the idea when he started hooking up with men years older than him, after that shit experience he had with his ex, Calvin. But, should Harry share that to these people?

He thinks not. But he has an idea though.

"Uh, mainly, I got the inspiration through vintage films...authors of wonderful novels, and uhm, actors and legendary musicians. I got them from my idols who are Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, James Dean, Jessica Rabbit, Jim Morrison, even our late president J.F.K., River Phoenix, Leonardo DiCaprio, and some bands from both the seventies and sixties like Bread and The Beatles."

"Wow. That's impressive, Harry!"

Harry feels himself blush. "Thanks," he murmurs.

"We have gathered you quite depict in your songs the Sugar Baby role while you also sometimes swap with embodying the Sugar Daddy role. Like in Off To The Races. Is this kind of concept based on real events?"

"Uhm."  _Merde_. (Whoops, learnt that from Louis!) Okay, okay, focus. What does Harry say? Of course they are based on real life events! In fact, they're based off his and Louis' romance!

From the corner of the room, Harry hears one of the handlers shout out, "Next question! Next question!" They probably caught on Harry's queasiness. Sheesh.

Harry blows out a sigh of relief when another person butts in, completely changing the topic, "Right, so, what is your ideal partner like?"

 _Well, that one's easy._  He only ever needs to describe his Louis. Fantastic. "Well, as far as my frisky demure can go, I should say someone who's understanding and extremely kind. No one wants to go out with a dickhead." The people laugh, agreeing. Harry grins, continuing, "And of course, one who's loving and sweet. Someone who's funny. The one who can make my day even after a very stressing, albeit fun day at work. Someone who's...supportive, most importantly."

"Sounds about right, Harry. That's lovely."

Harry smiles big.

"Where were you born, Harry?"

"Mississippi."  _Are they heading towards the slam book route now?_

"How many lovers have you had?"

Harry allows himself to chuckle. This is just becoming even more ridiculous by the minute. "That's a secret. Sorry."

"Did you finish school?"  _Oof._

"Honestly? No. But do I still wish to go back to school someday? Perhaps. I guess only the future can tell."

"Fair enough, Harry. What's your highest education attainment? If you don't mind us asking, of course."

Having heard that, he guffaws, leaning over the long table with one elbow. "Is this gonna be in my resume? Honestly, these questions!" He laughs, feeling his stomach growling all the sudden. He's getting hungry! Nevertheless, he answers, "Well, I'm a high school undergraduate. Too preoccupied to finish it," he tells them honestly, not really caring if they might judge him for it. It's the truth anyway. His mother could hardly support herself, much less have both he and Gemma in a good school. Harry dropped out of high school during his year as a Junior, and after that he just began his travel all across the state where he grew up to look for pubs to sing his songs at, make money for himself, so he could also help with the bills at home, despite he lived alone by then.

"You wrote in one of your singles, Body Electric, that 'Jesus is your bestest friend'. Does that mean you're a religious person?"

 _Ah, when is this going to end?_ "I suppose I am, yeah."

He twirls at a stray curl around his index finger. And that must've garnered some attention from one of the audiences. "Ever thinking about having a haircut, or you're aiming to have even longer locks?"

Well, wow. He hasn't really thought about that one. "Still clueless, I am. Next question, please?"

At this point, he can see Linda motioning for the time on her watch now. Which, fucking finally!

"Harry, I'm a fan of yours, my name is Helga, and, not to come off sounding too personal, but. Who does your nails for you? And where did the inspiration come from when it comes to your taste in fashion? You're quite the darling." The fan grins at him, flashing those teeth bracketed with braces.

Harry mirrors back that grin, he's too fond of his fans not to do so. "To be quite honest... it's just me. All me, girl. I'm comfortable with the kind of fashion I have now, and I've never really shied away from the connotation of myself being openly gay, so...there's that." And he winks. Helga, the fan, visibly blushes, and then she's taking down some notes on her phone, before she's holding it up high, plausibly recording more videos of this press con. Harry can't help stick his tongue out at her once they lock eyes from across the room again, only for the sole intention of making her giggle.

"We've noticed you have some French lyrics in one of your tracks, Gods and Monsters, I believe? Do you know how to speak the language?"

Before he can answer that and correct that it's actually Carmen that had the French in its interlude and not Gods and Monsters, "Err, well—," he's cut off when bodyguards stalk towards him, finally gathering him up from where he's sat, asking him to stand up. It's over, Harry can see Linda and her crew pushing the crowd back from the line. Which is great! Although Harry doesn't mind spilling to them about the fact that it wasn't all him with the French in that particular song but it was all on his fiance who is French and speaks the language by nature, he reckons the management wouldn't appreciate if he did spill one bit. So this is good that the bodyguards are now herding him away from the people, who are still throwing question after question, now calling after his retreating figure away from them.

**~*~**

"Shit, that was some worrisome answers I gave out there, wasn't it?" Harry says as soon as he slumps back over one of the couches inside the dressing room, looking up at Linda who's on her phone.

"You did great, hon. Stop stressing."

"Are you sure?"

"Dead sure. Now, I'll just have to go get Terry here so he can give you a few retouches here and there. You're going to be papped in a few minutes."

Suspending into a huge sigh, Harry simply nods his head. "Alright."

**~*~**

The stunt Harry does for publicity goes as planned. He was meant to be seen walking around LA with some fashionable clothes, looking proud and gay. Hired paparazzi followed him around and took plenty of pictures of him; he mocked buying something in some high-end store for clothes and even some scones in a coffee shop, and then he's done.

He clambers inside a white limousine and then he's being whisked away. Harry thinks he'll never really get used to fame, ever.

**~*~**

"Today is the day!" Harry cheers as soon as he lets Niall and Zayn in the house, the two strolling with their backpacks and what Harry supposes are their best outfits.

Niall is wearing a red snapback over his head of blonde, then some white round-neck tee shirt and beige chinos, a pair of Jordans and some shades perched atop his nose. He looks neat and handsome. Harry loves that he took Harry's advise seriously.

Zayn on the other hand, is in some camouflage patterned raglan shirt that's folded at the sleeves, showing some of his tattoos, matched with some dark brown jeans, the pretty lad clad with his trademark combat boots and with those ears and nose piercings.

"Hope we didn't dress too much," Zayn is the first to speak up, looking down at his attire.

Harry waves him off, tells him dismissively, "Oh, psh! You guys dressed  _fine_." And that's true. Because even Harry has decided to dress up well for this.

Unlike with the usual outfit he's worn like a mantra, which consisted of faded-colored denim tight jeans, ripped and not, some beaten white boyfriend shirts as if he's gone through some war and those were what he'd donned there, due to the fact that sometimes even ones that he wears are almost torn out at the collars and sleeves, then those sheer shirts that made his nipples and chest and tummy tattoos visible, Harry has chosen to wear some of his fancy clothing this time around. He's opted for some pastel pink floral silk buttoned up short-sleeve and some black jeans that are far from discoloration, mind, then his favourite pair of Louis Chelsea boots.

Louis Chelsea boots. Ha. Sue him for being extra if you can, Harry dares you.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's hit the road!" Niall thunders, making both Zayn and Harry grin wide, both excited and giddy themselves.

"Let's!" Harry thunders right back.

In a minute, they're eventually bidding their farewell to Valeria, who's muttering some other French words to them aside from Au Revoir, before they're leaving house number one altogether, making for the parked white Van that will drop them off to the airport, one that Harry also rented just this morning.

He texts Louis on their way there.  ** _Coming for you, babe._**

**_Coming ? But I haven't even touched you ;)_ **

**_TEASE!!! >:O_ **

**_Just playing with you , doll haha !_ **

Harry bites around a grin as he stares at Louis' message. Seconds later, there's another one that comes through.

**_Can't wait to see you, darling . Have a safe flight . xx_ **

**~*~**

Harry, Niall and Zayn are met with three bodyguards as soon as they land at 'Charles de Gaulle', an airport here in Paris that Harry has trouble pronouncing by the way, and...wow, Harry supposes this is the exact stop that Louis always gets at then whenever he comes here for vacations, visits and business-related purposes.

French and foreigners from the country itself mill around them, thankfully no one stopping yet to take a second look at Harry, meaning no one has yet to recognize him. He guesses his name has only been around the United States at this point, which, he's cool about that. He's happy about that, even. The small stampede he's caused back in LAX has rendered his practices for stealthiness for naught.

Having them all climbing inside some black SUV Van, the three bodyguards in the seats with them, one taking shotgun, the other two at the backseat with him, Niall and Zayn, and a chauffeur driving them, one of them perks up, almost robotic-like and tells Harry that they're heading straight to Louis' office building instead of their home here in Paris, house number three. It turns out Louis is not there. He left early this morning while Harry was still sound asleep during the plane ride. That's about some good two-three hours ago, if Harry's estimation is accurate.

The travel to Louis' building is quite...eerily dramatic for one. Both Niall and Zayn are looking out at the windows close to them, while Harry does the same, all of them too enamored at the beautiful, aesthetically pleasing to one's eye city before them, just enough to keep them from chatting up each other.

Harry isn't big with history; not of things, places, and events from other countries besides his own (except maybe for people, given all of his icons are the legend oldies who are either deceased or retired), or landmarks for that matter, and that is why he's not familiar with the buildings and museums that they are passing with their car anyway.

One of the bodyguards, they learn his name is Stefan, has been filling them in with the names of the certain tourist attractions that will come in to view, "That's Arc de Triomphe," he says, "And that's Montmartre right there," then again, being one who is not keen with surfing the net therefore he hasn't the chance to Google them, Harry is beyond clueless. He can't even remember the names that are coming out of the French guy Stefan's mouth. Out of all the things he mentioned, it's only the Eiffel Tower that he knows. The grand, tall structure that they later on sees when they reach the middle part of the city, and even then this is the only actual time that Harry finds out how its name is pronounced correctly. He's always known it was supposed to be verbalized as  _Eye-fell_  Tower. As it is, the correct pronunciation is  _Ih-fell_ Tower, and that has him gaping in his head. Because gosh, Harry's entire life has been a lie.

When they finally reach the building that's allegedly Louis' office, the driver pulls to a stop and parks by the pavement. The bodyguards are the first ones to hop off the Van, and then Harry, Zayn and Niall later on follow them out, the three men in black suits rattling off some floor level to them while they're at it, simultaneously letting them all know being the whole of it as Louis and his team's space for working. By the looks of it, just here on the outside, that must be some impressive squares and squares of meters.

Wow. Okay. Alright, Harry can get around that.

Harry thanks them at last, and when he's about to pull out some cash to give to them, Stefan is quick to kindly reject, informing Louis has already taken care of their pay. Harry then just nods, knows his partner enough that he's probably given them a large sum for them to just pass on some extra tip from Harry. Watching the black Van drive away, Harry wills himself to turn back around and face the entrance of the building. He and the boys start towards it, smoothly entering the tall building filled with see-through glass walls, all high and intimidating, very much looking smart and technical, making Harry a sly bit nervous because of those.

Well, jeez, wherever that anxiousness might've come in. This is his fiance's workplace, isn't it? He should be confident himself as he is an important person in Louis' life, if not the most, making that as he is someone who's expected out of anyone else here to be stepping a foot in this grand territory.

Right.  _Right_. Gathering himself up, Harry leads the way to where the reception desk may be, ignoring the niggling feeling that's erupting from the depths of his stomach, as he lets himself drink in the posh-ness of his surroundings, his mind momentarily wandering off again to the reality of  _this is where Louis is accustomed to, this is what he sees in a normal day in his life, this is where he often goes whenever he needs to attend for business meetings and work-related matters, wow._  He ignores that, again, he neglects all of those, as he holds his stance, head held high, going towards the reception desk, which, there, he finally locates it and, by far, he must admit it's the most sophisticated and luxurious looking one that Harry's seen so far, in spite of his aspiring celebrity status.

"Louis Tomlinson," he tells the person in charge. A tall black guy wearing some off-white, almost looking silver, uniform complete with a hat, when he asks them,  _"With whom do you have an appointment with?"_  Harry is glad he's speaking in English, in the least.

"Name, please?"

"Harry Styles."

The receptionist types something on the computer, and then Harry doesn't miss the part where his eyes light up once he finds what he's been looking for. "You're the fiance of Monsieur Tommo? He's been expecting you. Please, he's at the topmost floor. Penthouse three."

Ducking his head low, cheeks warm and feeling overwhelmed, Harry mumbles out a, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir. Elevators are that way." He points at the direction of the wing side. Harry nods and then he's leading the way over there again.

"This is so fancy, Haz," Niall says after some time. After they've gone inside one of the lifts going upwards which pretty much is coated with silvers and golds, mirrors all around its four walls, pressing the button with the characters  _P-3_  on it.

Harry shrugs, shooting his friend a look over his reflection in the mirror. "I know, Ni. Honestly, this is the first time I've ever been here. I'm just as baffled as you."

"Damn boy. Tomlinson sure is something."

Zayn snorts. "Tell me about it."

**~*~**

"Babe!" Harry calls as soon as he spots Louis standing at the middle of this huge office, where which floor the elevator doors dinged open, and then he's charging towards him, Louis, who's already smiling openly, blue eyes wide and bright, arms stretching outwards to come welcome him in.

" _Mon petit!_ " Comes Louis' sexy as fuck French that Harry's missed to hear all those days he only ever cherished either over the phone or over their Facetime sessions, and not in the least bit in flesh. Harry engulfs Louis' tinier body with his, the older man's arms around him strong and secure, the way he's rooted to his spot firm that even when Harry has practically lunged on him, he still managed to stay on the same position.

"We made it, Lou," Harry says in Louis' ear, voice hushed and crooning, making Louis hug him tighter as he nuzzles further into the crook of his neck. As per usual, Louis' scent is something Harry would want to get drunk on, inhaling subtly as he snoops.

"I can see that," Louis says, chuckling. His voice sounds husky when he lowers its volume like that, and Harry thinks, fuck. This man is easily turning him on, and they haven't even been reunited for a solid five-minute!

Once Harry and Louis part from the hug, Niall and Zayn then let themselves be noticed, as Niall chirps out his, "Heya!" with an enthusiastic wave. And then Zayn with his calmer persona saying, "Bro," both to Louis.

"Boys! Glad you could make it too. Welcome to my workplace, all of you. Sorry, it's quite..." Louis looks around as he gestures with his hands, and Harry can't help but do the same. His eyes dart at his surroundings. There are an abundance of wooden canvases scattered around the huge place, some already fixed, some still in progress; newspapers are thrown haphazardly all over the floor, and tubes of acrylic oil paints are over those materials, then a bunch of paintbrushes are everywhere too, with various lengths and sizes in them. At some parts, Harry can see cushion couches and tall curtains, even some areas with rectangular carpets of red velvets and golds, and—and wow, it sure is quite— "a mess here," Louis finishes.

"Ah, that's alright, mate," Zayn reassures, gripping on the straps of his bag.

"Yeah! No biggie, Louis," Niall agrees too.

"It's only me right now, it's still early," Louis tells them, sheepish, "but Liam and the others shall be here soon. I've laid out these materials here because I was planning on mixing some colors, I need to produce new skin tones. Just, basically testing out something new."

"Ohhh," Harry gushes, clapping his hands in excitement. "Are you going to start another project, honey? You haven't said a thing about that." He's going to be a model for his fiance again?  _Sweet_. He wonders what will he be this time? He's been a mermaid before, then Louis captured his sleeping moments too. He's been the Coney Island queen and then of course, the most recent one, him with older men. Hmm. Maybe Louis will do a Disney theme this time, eh?

Just when Harry's about to add to what he said just now, he suddenly gets greeted by silence.

The room has fallen silent, after Niall has finished cheering along with him, that is. He looks to his left, and Zayn is looking at him, and then to his right; Niall is blinking back at him too.

When Louis takes more time not responding, Harry then peers up to put his attention to him. Louis is staring down at the canvases on the ground, lips pursed and eyes looking as if...they hold nothing in them. Empty. Harry almost furrows his brows, confused as to why he's feeling a sudden pang in his chest, but then Louis is snapping his head back up and he's breaking into a sunny grin. "Hey, I just realized... You guys are tourists around here. Why don't we all go to my favourite restaurant and eat first,  _oui_?" Louis fixes him a look, "Before we discuss about my new project, okay, love? I'm famished." He rubs at his tummy to prove his point and, Harry has no other option but to mask his confusion for now and smile along, nodding his agreement. Thing is, Louis' never dodged Harry like this whenever he'd ask about his projects—be it in a jolly way or whatnot, even when he just suddenly felt like asking about it. Louis will just say,  _yeah, I have a new project of you, darling_  or  _oui, mon amour, and this is going to be massive!_  as easy as that, even without some detailed descriptions to follow that, with which Harry will always be fine about.

Right now though, he is acting strange.

Harry brushes it aside, as he takes a step forward.

"Oh! Yeah! Yeah, you're right, honey," he laughs, awkward sounding more than any, much to his chagrin. And although Zayn and Niall are looking at them funny now, Harry chooses to stand his ground. "So. Let's go then?"

**~*~**

Louis has been showering Harry with kisses, during the car ride from the office on the way here, in Le Severo, this restaurant wherein Louis has informed them has the best steaks he's ever savored, and even now as they all slip in a booth and wait for a waiter to serve them. The ambiance of the place itself, is serene, albeit quite the modern type. Simple aesthetics and interior, with yellow lights and tall blackboards sporting writings of the menus in chalk, located at a corner in between two roads. If he's honest, Harry expected something fancier, knowing Louis, but. Well, this is something new. And good.

The whole time, Louis has been all affectionate and domestic towards him. He treats Harry's friends as if they've known each other forever, cackling along to Niall's jokes and high-fiving Zayn whenever he's saying something clever. Harry is enjoying being an audience to their ruckuses so far, just contented to be watching them over the rim of his glass of wine. Red wine. Louis' favourite.

As the time flies by, slowly but surely, Harry comes to his senses and realizes that Louis fits well in Paris, with all these French people. He talks to them comfortably, with that sexy accent and everything, doing some hand gestures and flicks of his cute, dainty wrists. The proper posh man he is.

     

When their lunch is over, Louis tours them next, says why not do that while they're at it; they visit some art galleries, museums and mansions. Musée National Rodin is one of them, where a lot of sculptures are displayed, with massive, pretty gardens and impressive high walls and ceilings and...damn. Damn if Harry isn't out of his league here. He watches the way Louis would move around so effortlessly, talking eerily as he is knowledgeable in this field, playing the role of a curator as he tells them some stories about each art work.

And, he looks painfully beautiful, is the thing. Being so good and sounding expert with the forte that he's chosen for himself to master over the years. Harry still can't get out of his head, the mere fact that a young Louis, fresh and nineteen, has discovered his passion for painting. Harry can just picture it so clearly, a young Louis, with soft swept-to-side fringe and inquisitive foxy blue eyes, probably in baby blue button-ups and suspenders, some tailored pair of trousers that were folded at the hems, stopping short on his ankles, walking around with a pair of fancy brown loafers, already smoking his cigarettes with the presence of a pipe, looking at a canvas with his, plausibly, third masterpiece ever on it.

Harry would like to think he's hit the jackpot of having such one in a million chance of luck in crossing paths with the modern Leonardo Da Vinci himself. Louis is a marvelous painter, that much is true, and Harry reckons they have so little in common.

While Louis is the mature man he is, quiet and reserved, moves with intent and executes such calculated strides, Harry is that one person who trips on his own two left feet and talks without class, hence Niall teasing him about his 'LA crass', and curses far too much to save his life.

Not one to think so negatively, however, he's still glad they get along so perfectly. Seamlessly, really. They're a dynamic duo, no matter if at the same time differ in a lot of way. Still. That shouldn't stop them from being in love and obsessed with each other, should it?

**~*~**

Before sunset, they all head back to Louis' office, and sure enough, people filled the place.

Liam is there, for one. He approaches them as soon as Louis calls for his name.

" _Où étiez-vous ?_ (Where have you been?)" He rushes to say as soon as he gets to them, and Harry doesn't understand, of course he can't. The only thing he acknowledges is the part where Liam sounded stressed. But when it seems like he finally notices him, Niall and Zayn, he suddenly smiles, all kind and warm. "Oh, Harry is here!"

"Hi," Harry manages to say, waving with his hand. Their bags have long been stashed away in a room where Louis introduces is the boardroom, so that makes it easier for him to move. Plus, his bad back isn't serving as a pain for once, despite a long day in the city with everyone and Louis, despite he should be having a jetlag by now.

In his gray suit and matching trousers, Liam extends a hand as he offers a handshake, "Welcome to Paris, Mr. Harry Styles." Truth be told, he and Liam have already been introduced, back in Sacramento during the event, and so far what Harry has picked up on the guy is that he can speak English very well. Better than Louis (but Harry won't tell that to his fiance, of course) and that's a relief. He has to, Liam tells them much, since he's the tour coordinator and manages Louis' appointments with various clients, people of color in foreign countries. It's a given thing that he knows and speaks the Universal Language well, otherwise he wouldn't be Louis' personal assistant.

Smiling his best, shaking Liam's hand, Harry tells him kindly, "Please. Just Harry is fine."

"Harry," Liam tries, grinning. Very well. Harry is charmed.

See, Liam is this tall guy—well, he's just as tall as Harry actually—who's broad at the shoulders and looking like what he's hiding beneath those sleeves he seems so fond of wearing during work are some yummy, muscular biceps, so...so yeah, Harry is hooked. Louis has some really good taste with everything. People, places, fashion, choice of word. And the sole fact that Liam is also good-looking and handsome, they didn't stand a chance. Thus, it's no surprise that even Harry's best friends are awestruck.

If Niall's beamy facial expression is anything to go by, as he stares at Liam, and—and Zayn,  _god_.

"Zayn?" Harry whispers.

"Huh?" Zayn blinks at him, seemingly pulled out of some...trance.

"There's, uhm," Harry motions to his chin, where a string of drool is dribbling down.

"Oh," he murmurs, as he wipes at it.  _Shit_.

Louis chuckles under his breath, while Liam on the other hand is— _blatantly blushing!_

Oh...

Harry and Niall share a look. Harry smirks and Niall scrunches up his nose around a goofy smile, wiggling his eyebrows as if he's hatching an evil plan.

Oh well. Niall Horan, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Ha. Harry loves his Lolita references so much, okay.

"I believe I've met your friends too?" Liam suddenly quips, still looking shy and red, though Harry must applaud him for masking his anxiousness with such confident sounding voice.

"Have you?" Harry feigns innocence. To his left, he pulls at Zayn's arm and thrusts him forward. He stumbles a bit and Harry thinks he hears his tiny gasp, but Liam is hasty enough with catching him to stand balanced to his feet. Niall bursts out in laughter at their matching tomato-red faces, while Harry is grinning proudly to himself at another wingman job going swell. His gaze drops to Louis, who looks amused, entertained about what's happening before him... then again, Harry still doesn't miss the way he's looking like he's been hiding something, right beneath that faux peaceful demeanor. Harry supposes he's just memorized Louis so much that he's alarmingly aware this is the first time Louis has been acting...such oddly way.

"Harry, what the hell was that for?" Zayn scowls at him once he's gathered himself.

Harry only shrugs. Niall comes to his side and pats him on the back. "Look who's in love."

"Shut up!"

The bantering goes on for a bit, until Liam is turning to Louis, saying something in his ear, causing Louis to swear in French. His eyes widen, and then he's shooting Harry a look of—what's that? Terror?

"Calder and Hadid are dropping by. Shit, Li, I thought that's for tomorrow."

"Huh? Who are they?" Harry asks, confused. Calder? Hadid? What kind of names are those? And who the fuck?

"Harry, baby," Louis stalks towards him, taking both of his hands in his. Harry is madly out of breath. "Harry, I need to talk to you."

"Uh, sure, Lou..." Harry mumbles, unsure with himself. Because how does one Harry react if Louis Tomlinson, the king of ease and confidence, is suddenly looking at him as if he's suddenly carrying the weight of the entire universe on his shoulders?

In a heartbeat, Louis is pulling him at the direction of where the lifts are. "Come with me."

Harry feels pliant, legs soft and weightless. "Lou? Where are we going?"

**~*~**

Too much of a curious cat and not one to feel scared with the possibilities of heartbreak or disappointments, Harry bombards Louis with questions of, "Who's Calder and Hadid? Why are they coming? And why did you look like you've heard the worst news ever, Lou? Why? What's going on? Who are they? Are you hiding something from me? Oh my god, are you cheating on me? Are they your new boyfriends? What stupid names they have! They better be worth my tears, you hear, Lou? Ugh! Where are we even going? Where are you taking me?  _Louuuu_!"

But then Louis just rolls his eyes at him and then he's shutting Harry up with a deep snog to his mouth. "Hush, darling. Get on."

"Where? On this bicycle?" Harry asks, incredulous as he looks at the pink Japanese bike before him. There's two of them, coincidentally so.

"Yes,  _mon petit._  We haven't got all night."

"Fine."

Thirty minutes later, Harry finds themselves riding cute pink and blue bicycles around town.

And from time to time, Louis will stop them so he can smoke some cigarettes. Harry joins him, and he can't help but be both seething mad and nervous; mad for Louis not killing the niggling anxiousness that's taken residence in his gut and nervous for—the same reason, he guesses.

"Lou, please, just talk to me, honey, what's going on?" Harry pleads, putting a hand on Louis' left shoulder, while the man continues to take a drag from his stick.

Louis doesn't let up.

Harry tries again, this time with berated indignation, "Lou. Tell me. Please—"

"My team is asking for a new model, Harry."

And, what?

Louis finally looks at him, dropping the lasts of his cigarette on the ground, not bothering to stomp on it. Harry looks back at him, at loss for words.

Pedestrians and cars alike pass them by along the street where they are, some honking and some looking at them with wonderment in their eyes. Harry secretly hopes they don't recognize him, otherwise...

He shakes the thought away. He has some other things to worry about in the meantime.

"Darling?"

Harry blinks. "You mean... they don't want me to be your..." And Harry suddenly has trouble with breathing properly. He's running out of oxygen in his lungs, because  _what?_  He struggles to keep himself upright, clinging onto the handlebars of the bicycle.

Louis is frowning, and then he's reaching out on Harry. He holds him around his forearm, the softness of his thumb pressing at Harry's skin. "I've flown to Paris first thing in the morning after the event in Sacramento...because I wanted to talk it out with them...Haz, I—I tried everything in my power to—to change their mind about this. But—"

Harry watches as Louis shakes his head, lips turned into a deeper frown now, once bright blue eyes all dark and empty and cold. "But, what..." Harry manages to croak out. Croak out? Is he crying? Shit, shit, shit. Fuck. Harry isn't a crier. No fucking way. He's not crying about this, no, he refuses!

"But I didn't win against them. It was just me and Liam who voted that I stay loyal to my artworks of you. But there was—at least eight of them against the two of us, so majority it is. They want to see..." He stops, clearing his throat.

Harry feels like he's about exploding here and now; his head weighs nothing, and his hands are numb. He's seeing white, he's hearing Louis' each word through echoes. He can't feel his face right now.

"They want to see females in my works, babe. They want female models to star in my works."

After that's said, everything suddenly comes rushing back to Harry in full swing. His senses, his clammy hands, the sound of his heartbeats in his own ears.

It's dark out. They're standing under some lamppost in the middle of some unknown road, and Harry's heart is tugging hardly in his chest as if it wants to crawl out through his mouth.

Taking a sharp inhale, Harry nods. "I see," he speaks, and god does his voice sound so weak even to him. He doesn't care though, life must go on, right? He lets out a bitter laugh, then he bites out, "So they're tired of me, yeah?"

And perhaps he's being a martyr here, asking such question, but Harry has always been so many things, see. And being stubborn is one of them, even if that might cause his heart to get broken. He doesn't care. He loves it anyway—the pain. He lives for the man he loves with his whole heart to cause him pain. Only him.

Only Louis William Tomlinson.

"That's not—"

Before Louis can even deny and lie to his face, Harry cuts him off, wants to feel something else that's a million times painful. "You know what, Lou? Never mind. Let's meet these  _female models_  of yours instead, yeah? I want to get slapped in the face with the truth, I bet that'd be better than you lying to my face about your team not getting tired of seeing the image of me on your portraits."

"Harry, no, darling, it's not like that," Louis tries with him, but then Harry is already pedaling away, leaving it to Louis to follow after him. He does, and Harry is only kicking himself for it a bit, the fact that he's acting so unreasonably. It isn't Louis' fault, he chastises himself in his head, it's his team that's requested a new model.  _Two_  new female models.

The taste is bitter in his tongue, making him want to gag and choke and spit.

Fucking hell. Harry pedals faster, making that Louis calling after him. He pretends he doesn't hear.

**~*~**

They make it back to Louis' office, and pretty much, it's a quiet travel in the elevators up the Penthouse. Harry ignores Louis' presence throughout it, with Louis doing the exact same...or not, since his body is turned towards Harry and Harry can feel his breath fanning over his collarbones.

Whatever. Harry isn't letting his guards down, even when technically, all he wants to do is to push Louis against the mirror around the enclosed space area and mold their mouths together into a bruising kiss.

Harry's never felt this type of hurt since he got his heart broken back in High School. Jesus fuck. He has it fucking bad with Louis.

As the elevator doors slide open, Harry nudges past Louis and steps inside the office. He looks around the place, which is much the same save for the lights that are now switched on and washing the entire spacious area, and some more people in suits mill about the place unlike some hours ago.

Niall, Zayn and Liam are still together in their little circle, seemingly talking amongst themselves. Harry walks over where they are. He can feel that Louis is walking behind him and following quietly. Harry hates that he's being quiet. That they're having this sort of silent treatment when just moments ago they're being a bunch of PDA to one another.

He sighs to himself, can't help the urge of doing so.

"Haz," Niall acknowledges him as soon as he gets to them.

"Hey. Back so soon?" Zayn inquires, and, fuck. Please, no, not now. "Did you just...cry? What happened?"

Oh, joy. Zayn ever the observant Malik.

"Did I? I don't remember. Might be the wind. Lou and I went out for some laps with the bicycles. Around town, he showed me. Uh, we also smoke some cigs, so."

"Oh, okay."

"Louis," Liam suddenly pipes up. Louis is standing close to him in seconds flat. "They're here."

"Babe," Louis turns to him quick, not even considering Harry's protests anymore regarding the matter that he doesn't want to talk, the older man just proceeding to grab his hand and urging him to stand close to him as they both twist around to face the other direction.

Harry makes a face at that. "What's the hype about—"

" _Bonjour!_ "

"Louis,  _mon petit_ ," some tall woman with waves of brunette hair comes forward, shocking Harry all at once for how boldly she's taking stride after stride, and more so as she pecks  _Harry's fiance right in front of him._

What in the hell is a 'moh petih'? Louis calls Harry that all the time, doesn't he? Oh for Elvis' sake, Harry should really start looking them up with Google Translate. Because just why in the fuck is she addressing Louis with  _that_? Who the fuck is she in Louis' life?

"Eleanor," Louis says, voice soft and lulling, pecking this Eleanor girl back, both on each her cheek.  _The nerve?!_

Oh, but that doesn't end there though, because the other blonde woman comes towards Louis too, and they all do the same with the pecks and eerie greetings.

"Uh, Eleanor and Gigi, I would like you to meet, Harry. My fiance."

Both girls' gaze flick to him. "The famous Harry Styles in your paintings?" The blonde, Gigi, gushes out loud. "Wow! Pleasure to meet you!"

As much as he isn't one bit amused about this, Harry wears his most fake smile and manages a laugh. He sounds awfully awkward. "Uh, 'sup," he drawls out, treating them with the typical American sluggish attitude he can muster up. He gives two shits about the blinding classy personas they're granting him with. By the looks of it, the girl is hopeful upon the probability of her having the opportunity to smooch Harry's cheeks too, but, well, Harry just isn't really in the mood to make a move, so. They won't. Harry won't let such happen.

"You look even gorgeous in person, Harry," the other girl, Eleanor, comments now, sticking a hand out towards him. Should Harry accept and shake it?

Seconds pass and he doesn't. Eleanor redeems her hand then, embarrassed, and Harry swears he can feel Louis' palm sweating beneath them. Good riddance.

So these are the models that Louis will be painting for the next few months then. These tall, slender, and beautiful French women, that if Harry is true with his assumptions and stereotyping ass, are always very sure of themselves, always very elegantly dressed (unless they are in bed with at least one lover), and are, allegedly, definitely very promiscuous. Louis will be hanging out and spending  _most_  of his precious time with these charming petite ladies as he paints them, their naked bodies, their long hairs and long legs, their long and thick eyelashes making their eyes pop, while, hopefully not, encouraging them with compliments about their appearances. Just like how he does it with Harry.

Or  _did_  it with Harry, rather.

And he'll be doing those while Harry is a thousand miles away from him, all across the United States of America, and then him here in Paris. Or in some other parts of the globe.

Well, fuck.

Fucking fuck.

After a few moments of awkward silence with Harry dreading in his head about scenarios of Louis having the chance to snog these ladies behind his back if he ever so decides to cheat on Harry one of these days, eventually, Liam breaks it with a cough in his closed fist. Way to cut the tension in the room. "Very well, then. Ladies, come along with me? You'll be signing some legal contracts."

The two women in high-heels and fancy flowy dresses that hug their slim waists and torsos, obediently follow Liam into some room, and Harry is left with a Louis who's wearing some troubled facial expression, Zayn who's looking utterly sympathetic and Niall who's seemingly gawking to his spot, longingly staring after the two French women as if he's just met the one he'd want to marry someday.

Possibly the blonde one. Or the brunette. Harry's vote goes to the blonde one since he finds her more strikingly otherworldly. Okay, no, he'll not be using that adjective on her, or on anyone for that matter considering that's something he uses to describe Louis in his head.

Right.

"Uh...would anyone care for some drinks? Harry and I's home is just some fifteen to twenty minutes drive from here."

Everyone echoes their  _yeah, sure's_ , but not Harry. Definitely not Harry. He's way too shell-shocked and gutted as it is to even function accordingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please give me your honest feedback! your comments motivate me to write even faster and yeah skdjhdkbdfk please please. love lots!!
> 
> what dyou think will happen from here?!??!


	4. Don't Look Too Far, Right Where You Are, That's Where I Am, I'm Your Man ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> too quite a while. i had my new friend meliha do the french translations for this chapter and she's THE BEST! i love her mksdksdn ♡♡♡
> 
> now onto the story! hope you enjoy ;)

♡♡♡♡

It's at the crack of dawn that Harry's alarm goes off indicating a flight they need to get on, and wakes everybody up, including Louis. They, Harry, Niall and Zayn stayed in Paris for another three days, here in their home, and during those days, apparently, Louis still hasn't made it up with Harry despite his efforts of spoiling him to beautiful places around town and treating them all to breakfast, lunch and supper for all of those days, even to the cinemas and tourist spots. Louis has even offered that they all go to Disneyland just to kill the tension, but Harry refused, said he wasn't in the mood and that he might just infect everyone else's vibes with his own 'melodramatics' as he calls it.

He's pouty and distant and hard to coax. It's not the same with last time that Louis had done something that Harry had been cross about, making that as him being a teary-eyed doll, and it had only took Louis to bring back the smile on his face once he'd shown him Coney Island. And Louis had been a right asshole that one time too, sucking Harry off in a dingy area of a bathroom with lots of insects and cockroaches, mind, the place all pungent and smelling of dried pee, just so he could take revenge on Harry's ex. This time it's a lot more different and even more challenging, and now that they are standing here at the airport, and he's practically begging Harry that he comes along with them, even right in front of his two best friends, Harry still won't budge.

"I want to come with you, Harry, please," he says for the hundredth time, perhaps, as he unloads the car with Harry's bag and  _his_. He packed up too, just in case he changes Harry's mind to all of this.

"You know you don't have to," Harry only tells him though, slinging his backpack on his shoulders, tossing the other ones to Zayn and Niall, who still both look sleepy and are yet yawning, minding their own businesses as they walk away from the scene. Good thing they don't seem to care about what's up with him and his fiance right at this moment, otherwise Louis' reputation of being calm and collected will be totally ruined, and he doesn't think he's ready for that.

He walks towards Harry, taking his hands and bringing them close to his chest. They feel soft and delicate, and Harry smells so wonderfully that he's momentarily in bliss, but that is soon cut short when he tells him once again, "Please,  _mon amour_ , I want us together, I want us to spend more time alone, before—"

"Before what? Before you begin that project with your two female models?" Harry snarls, emphasizing the 'two female models', again, like he's done days prior when the topic arises, rolling his eyes. "I don't think so, Lou. Nope. No, thank  _you_." And then he's snatching his hands away, proceeding to turn around and facing the airport's entryway.

Louis won't give up just yet, no. He grabs onto Harry's waist and has had him facing him again. "Darling..."

"Oh, shush you. Your accent won't work this time," Harry mumbles, tone snarky. He won't turn his face and look at Louis.

Face feeling all sorts of warm and fuzzy just with that remark from Harry alone, Louis offers, knows Harry like the back of his hand that he might just not take him down with this one, "Let's be in LA together. I miss Valeria and her cooking, we can be there for some time,  _oui_? I don't mind if you'd be working out late and I'll be home alone to wait up for you—"

"That won't be necessary. I won't be in LA, besides," Harry mutters right back, no ounce of hesitation with his words. Shit.

Louis furrows his brows, can feel himself frowning deeper now. "Then we'll be in Brooklyn, just the two of us..." he says slowly, and though it pains him, he understands just why Harry is being this way, "Remember how we filled our fridge? We can spend the rest of our breaks there. Let's cook up and have some stay-in."

And, that must have pressed a button in Harry, because he finally fixes Louis a glare, his usually warm and welcoming green eyes blazing with heat and refusal. "Louis, don't you get it? I'm hurt. I don't wanna see you right now, I can't take being around you right now."

 _Ouch_. That fucking hurts. That fucking slices, and Louis, he realizes he's been fighting a losing battle here. Goddamn it.

They both succumb in a deafening silence; Louis doesn't know how to respond simply after that.

He looks down at the ground, and it only takes him to register what's happening next when Harry starts to pry his hand off his waist as he mutters out, voice quite shaky but determined no less, "I need my space, Lou..."

Closing his eyes, Louis takes a sharp inhale, and then he's opening them again. "Alright," he whispers, peering up to look Harry dead straight into his eyes. "Alright...of course, _mon petit_."

Animatedly, Louis sees the way Harry's entirety visibly tensing. Did he say something wrong? Did Louis fuck it all up even more when he surrendered and implied that he's letting Harry go on his way and grab on the opportunity to have his space? Louis is immensely lost here. But before he can even fret on the possibilities, Harry's eyes then become hooded, his face angling away as he whispers back a, "Goodbye, honey," turning the opposite direction and heading for the airport itself, leaving Louis with an aching heart and thoughts that are making him feel like an absolute shit.

He wants to go after Harry, he wants to apologize and make it up to him. He wants to ask if he said something equally idiotic, whether he's crossed yet another line or not, if he's once again become  _insensitive_.

But as much as his mind is telling him to do just those, his body and pride are against it. He can't move from his spot.

"See you, Louis," Niall tells him then, voice quiet as if he's also in great despair like Louis is, as he too jogs away to follow Harry, slapping Louis in the process the reality of what's happening in this moment.

Then there is Zayn with that look of sympathy, serving as another reason for Louis' throat to dry, waving his hand at Louis awkwardly, before he's backing away too, heading for the airport to join his two other best friends.

Louis watches them go, his own backpack clinging to his shoulders suddenly getting heavier and heavier as the seconds pass by, his attention still on Harry's retreating figure, checking in with security and not even looking back to see how Louis is still here, standing alone, already longing for when he'll see him again. Because Louis knows deep down, he won't be seeing Harry for awhile, not when they have parted with such cold hearts and sad eyes, not when Harry is still upset with him, not when Louis has admittedly fucked up.

He just hopes Harry forgives him before he even loses his mind.

**~*~**

Louis goes straight home having Riley drive him. It's, undoubtedly, one of the saddest, most eerie drives he's ever been in.

He stalks up the stairs, one lousy step at a time, just being dramatically slow as he is feeling rather defeated, mood inflated. The house is quiet, too quiet that it can pass as a chapel or much worse a cemetery, the deafening silence serving as a huge evident of how everything seems so shitty and far from the best. Louis isn't feeling his best, and he doesn't think he can last any more minutes of being this way.

He misses Harry, all too soon, he won't deny that, and he hasn't even parted with him for all of a full hour. He guesses this is the 'blues' that normal people engaged in a long distance relationship speak of. Well, Louis has been in that type of relationship with Harry, even at the beginning of it, but he's a million percent sure this is the only time he's actually experiencing those 'blues' as they call it. He wonders now, has Harry felt that too?

God, Louis has been this selfish and insensitive then? That simple thing, he hasn't found out from Harry? He never asked? Shit, maybe he should call up Harry  _and_  ask. But like, wouldn't calling him this early when he said not too long ago that he needed his space make Louis look like a jerk? Yet again?

 _Merde_. Abort, abort, abort.

Louis needs a distraction. It's too early for this. It's too early that his anxiety is eating at him, he can't spend today just being bothered by his thoughts, he shouldn't overthink.

As soon as he reaches the master's bedroom, Louis drops his bag on the floor and toes off his loafers, avoiding himself from fretting and staring obsessively at that thing that wasn't put into right use. He pads across the room and towards the bed—his and Harry's bed where Harry has just been slumbering some moments ago—and then flops himself over it. He breathes in, closing his eyes in the process and... fuck, it still smells of his Del Rey. His juvenile, angelic scent is lingering all over the sheets. Louis frowns, he can't deal with this. He's never good with dealing with his emotions, let alone when those emotions only ever express the forlorn, downtrodden parts.

Louis quickly fishes out his phone that's created a bulge from his back pocket, unlocking it and ignoring the pang in his chest that's occurred just from catching a glimpse of his and Harry's selfie on its screen. And, seriously, he's acting like a baby right now, isn't he? Every little thing that has some connection to Harry he lets gnaw at his sanity. A fucking phone wallpaper... For real, Tomlinson? He can't even remember the last time he's celebrated Christmas, reasoning to himself that it's a holiday spent by the youth. Well, right now he seems like he's one of them, if just by some harmless selfie he's being this anxious.

He shakes the niggling thought away, proceeding to just call up one of his mates.

Nick answers almost right away as if the man himself is waiting for someone to call him. "Hello."

"Hey, Nicholas," Louis greets back, and damn. Did he almost just choke on his words? His voice sounds...miserable.

Shit, he needs to get a hold of himself. He can't come off pathetic, especially not if he's on the phone with Grimshaw. He'll never let Louis live this down.

" _Oh, attends. Je connais cette voix. Louis ? Merde, j’ai pas regardé qui m’appelait._  (Oh, wait. I know that voice. Is this Louis? Shit, I didn't check the caller ID.)" Nick laughs from his end, and that at least puts Louis at ease, makes him want to loosen up.

He allows himself to smile, and just like how he memorizes his friend, tries his best to recite with him what he only knows the man will say next right at this moment, " _À quoi je dois ce plaisir, Mister Big Shot?_ (To what do I owe this pleasure, Mister Big Shot?)"

Nick's laughter comes out louder and he's even almost wheezing, which has Louis grinning big. " _Espèce de con va! Mais je suis sérieux. À quoi je dois ce plaisir ?_ (You sod! But I'm being serious. To what do I owe this pleasure?)"

" _Rien, personne. J’ai juste- je voulais te demander comment tu allais ?_ (Nothing, no one, I just—I wanted to ask how you are?)" Safe.

Nick seems like he's pondering for an answer for how quiet he's gotten all the sudden, and that gives Louis some time to think about the recent happenings regarding their friendship, because Louis may be the busy type of worker, always going places to and fro, but he cares about his friends a lot. Thinking about it, Louis hasn't heard from Nicholas since the event in Sacramento—but that's only because the man has been busy himself too, with both work and travels, considering Nick is a businessman that's managing three fields. Clothing, footwear and head-wear. So he barely has time, and Louis knows better to intervene with other people's life agendas. The last time he's checked on Nick though, Louis' pretty sure he's still very much available up to this day, what with the notion he's given Louis that he was at the event to hunt down some divorced men, no matter if that was supposed to be a joke. Louis knows Nick like he's his twin, thus he'd know if that was half-meant or the dead truth. And, by the sounds of it, Nick was taking the piss, so Louis assumes he's got himself a special someone, wherever that person may be, he's uncertain, but he knows there is.

And it looks like that's the certain person Nick is waiting up for to call him, just like it's the same one too that has him pondering beforehand so as to not just spill on Louis' awaiting ears.

" _Je me porte bien, je suppose_ (I'm doing fine, I suppose)," Nick finally answers after some time, with some gust of puffy breath, then adds, " _Je veux dire, y a eu une grosse dispute entre mon copain et moi juste hier. Et il ne m’a toujours pas appelé, donc..._  (I mean, my boyfriend and I had a huge fight just yesterday and up to now he's yet to ring me, so...)" And,  _ah_ , see? Louis is right. There's a scoff coming from Nick, a sardonic one, before he's throwing Louis a question he doesn't think he wants to answer, " _Mais comment tu vas, toi ? Ce n’est pas ton genre de m’appeler juste comme ça, t’es un bourreau du travail ploutocrate qui pense qu’il porte le monde sur ses épaules dépoussiéré de multi-millionaire._ (How about you though? This is so not you to just call me up out of the blue, seeing as as you're a workaholic plutocrat who thinks he carries the entire globe over his multi-millionaire dust-free shoulders.)" Nick giggles, knows Louis to get snippy whenever he does  _that_. " _Je blague. Mais sérieusement, Tommo, c’est quoi le problème ? Est-ce que tu t’es disputé avec Harry?_ (Kidding. But seriously, Tommo, what's wrong? Did you and Harry fight?)"

 _Welp. Seems like it's not just Louis who's critically observant around here._ But that's besides the point. " _T’as un copain? Et tu ne me l’as jamais dis?_ (You had a boyfriend? And you never told me?)" He shoots back at Nick, completely brushing aside the part where he asked about him and Harry having a quarrel.

" _J’ai— j’ai cru que tu t’en ficherais si je ne te le disais pas?_ (I— I thought you wouldn't mind if I didn't?)" Nick sounds as if he's squinting around his words. At least he has the decency to sound the incy-wincy bit guilty.

" _Okay, d’accord. Mais dis moi s’en à son propos._ (Okay, fair enough. But tell me about him.)"

"Ryan?"

" _Donc c’est Ryan. Ou est-ce que t’as rencontré ce mec ?_ (So, it's Ryan then. Where did you meet this guy?)"

" _Euhm. Ici en Californie. J’étais à un bar et ce très bel homme viens me voir. C’est en réalité une histoire assez marrante. Donc j’étais bourré, genre déchiré, dans mon délire. Je m’apprêtais à me lever et peut-être danser un peu. Et c’était genre la fois où je cherchais pas à pécho, genre... j’allais là bas seulement pour me saouler et m’énerver._ (Erm. Here in California. I was at some bar and this really gorgeous man came to me. It was actually a funny story. So I was drunk off my ass, just minding my own business. I was about to stand up and perhaps dance a bit. So like, this was the one time I wasn't looking to hook up with anyone, like... I only ever went there to drink and get pissed.)" Louis snorts at hearing that, can't help himself. Nick only chuckles though, unperturbed as he proceeds telling, " _Et j’étais tellement dans les vapes, j’avais beaucoup trop bu. J’étais pas d’humeur à flirter avec qui que ce soit. Ensuite, Ryan, seigneur, il était tellement hilarant. Il vient vers moi et commence à se frotter à moi par derrière ! C’était un vrai pervers, Loueh._ (Then I was so fucking dizzy, had too much to drink. I wasn't in the mood to flirt with whoever. Then Ryan, god, he was so hilarious. He came towards me and started grinding against my back! He was being a right  _creep_ , Loueh.)" Nick is full on laughing now, and he hiccups through his words as he continues, " _Merde, il se frotte contre ma hanche et con comme je suis j’ai cru que je m’étais cogné sur une chaise vu la semi érection qu’il avait !_  (Fuck, he'd grind against my hip, and the silly ole me thought I was hitting a nearby chair for how obviously hard the semi he was sporting!)"

"What the fuck," Louis comments, laughing too, because if that shit happened to him, he'd be fucking shitting bricks himself, embarrassed.

" _Mais c’est pas la meilleure partie ! Quand je sentis sa trique, j’ai hurler, mec !_ (But that's not the best part! When I felt the hard-on he had, I fucking  _shrieked_ , mate! I was pained. It physically hurt my hip!)" Nick is doubling over in laughter, wheezing. Again. " _C’était la meilleure rencontre de tous les temps ! Et après il s’est excusé, il a dit qu’il pensait juste que j’étais très séduisant, ce que je suis._  (It was the best fucking first meeting ever! Then afterwards he said he was sorry, said he just really thought I was attractive, which, I am.)"

"Ha!" Louis snickers.

"Hush, Tomlinson," Nick says dismissively, effectively shutting Louis up, " _Donc il a ensuite demandé mon numéro et depuis on faisait que s’appeler et texter et on se voyait assez souvent jusqu’à qu’il confesse qu’il voulait être mon mec._ (So alas, he asked for my number and ever since then we'd been calling each other up and texting and we met up quite a  _lot_  of times, until he confessed he wanted to be my guy.)"

" _Ah, ce n'était pas qu'un coup d'un soir alors ?_  (Ah, so he wasn't just a one night thing then?)" Louis teases, mirth in his voice. " _Pendant une seconde j'ai bien cru que j'allais entendre une de tes histoires typiques, celle où tu dors avec cet homme alors que ça fait seulement quelques heures que tu le connais et où tu le laisses t'emmener dans son appartement merdique._  (I thought there for a second I was about to hear one of your typical stories of how you slept with this man after knowing him for just a few hours and then letting them whisk you away and into their shitty apartments.)"

Isn't able to stop himself, Nick has the audacity to tease him back for it. Shit. " _Je crois bien que ça ne me revient pas de raconter cette histoire à mes arrières-enfants._  (Sounds like that isn't mine to tell to my grand kids, though.)" Because he's right.  _That is Louis' story to tell to his grand kids_ , for that's how he met Harry. Back in that pub, Velvety Roses, where they only ever talked for a few hours before they were coming home to Harry's apartment. In Louis' defense though, Harry's apartment back then wasn't all that shitty. It had green walls and it was immaculate. Smelled nice too.

And, wait a minute—

" _Ce n’est pas ainsi qu’Harry et moi avions fait connaissance !_  (That was  _not_  how Harry and I met!)" Louis cries, defensive but still suppressing a laugh. Nick is only whistling and humming. " _Je l’ai rencontré à Beverly Hills! Sa soeur était l’une de mes voisines ! Je l’avais apperçu chez elle avant de l’avoir vu à ce bar gay !_  (I met him in Beverly Hills! His sister is a neighbor of mine! I saw him there first before I saw him back in that gay bar!)"

" _Oh, repose en paix, ledit bar_ (Oh, R.I.P. to said bar)," Nick muses off-handedly.

" _Imbécile !_ (You git!)" Louis crows as he shakes his head, then he remembers, " _Hey, en passant, j’ai entendu dire que tu étais présents sur les lieux lorsque c’est déroulé le raid policier ?_ (Hey, by the way, I heard you were there when there had been a raiding?)" He asks.

" _Oui, en effet… c’était un coup bas. Le propriétaire n’avait aucun permis d’entreprise à leur montrer._  (I was, I was... It was a low blow. The owner had no business permit to show.)"

Louis grimaces. " _Un coup bas, effectivement._  (Low blow, indeed.)"

" _Bref, Tommo. J'ai entendu les nouvelles, juste pour que tu sois au courant d'à quel point vous échouez en ce qui concerne la discrétion._ (Anyhow, Tommo. I heard the news, just so you're aware how y'all are failing at being discreet.)"

" _Quelles nouvelles ?_ (What news?)"

" _À propos de ton bébé, Harry, et... tu sais... la situation avec ton équipe._ (About your baby, Harry, and... you know. The situation with your team.)"

"Oh." That quick? Who else found out? Louis hasn't told anyone aside from Harry! And then there is Liam, Zayn and Niall. Then Calder and Hadid. " _Comment est-ce que tu sais ça ?_  (How in the hell did you know about this?)"

" _Je l'ai entendu de la bouche d'Eleanor, qui d'autre ?_ (Heard it from Eleanor, who else?)" Nick sounds like he's rolling his eyes at that, having said the name of the woman whom his ex-fuck buddy fucked off with awhile back.

" _Ouais. C'est l'un des modèles que je vais peindre_  (Right. She's one of the models I will be painting)," murmurs Louis, not really proud of informing Nick about it.

" _Pourquoi ne suis-je pas surpris ?_ (Why am I not surprised?)" Nick huffs. " _Elle couche avec l'un des actionnaires de ta compagnie, pas vrai ?_  (She's fucking one of the stockholders in your company, isn't she?)"

Louis hums. " _Pas à ce que je sache..._ (Not that I know of...)" Seeing as he and Eleanor aren't that close to begin with, Louis really has no clue regarding that, whether or not she's messing around with one of the stockholders as Nick thinks she is.

All Louis knows is that she's friends with some of them, given she's the naturally friendly type slash gentle sort of a woman, the pleasant one at that too, Louis will give her that, so it's not impossible that they really just had a keen interest in her to make it to where she is now, which is one of Louis' subjects for his upcoming project (that he really hasn't put in much effort and thought to). And mind, being Louis' subjects will garner you a bunch of...admirers, perhaps, some group of suitors too. Just like with Harry once upon a time...

Louis can still remember when he used to have people calling him up in the middle of the night, making him groan and rub at his eyes, just for him to endure hearing a series of  _'please, Louis! We want Harry Styles for our gallery!'_ to which he'd reject so kindly muttering  _'I'm sorry, he's mine'_ , or that one time during his scheduled meal time where someone had asked for his presence only to convince him it'd be a good idea if they collaborated with painting Harry,  _naked_ , which had Louis snarling at the perverted moron, " _Vous devez être aveugle pour ne pas avoir remarqué que Harry et moi-même sommes en couple, Monsieur. Je pourrai vous faire marcher décapité pour la façon dont vous insultez mon ego. Vous permettez ? Voici la porte_ (You must be blind not to notice how Harry and I are an item, mister. I could have you walking headless here on now for how you're insulting my ego. Do you mind? There's the door)," or even during some painting sessions with Harry, once again getting some calls by some high-profile artists, still on about asking him about the same thing,  _'hook us up with your muse, Harry Styles, Mr. Tomlinson, please'_ for they, claiming, also wish to have him as their subject. Each time, Louis would refuse, almost at the verge of face-palming himself, albeit his heart had been ten times larger, pride overflowing for his baby. He's just so proud of Harry. So, so proud of him. Why his team suddenly decided that Harry isn't worth their time anymore, Louis will probably never know. But he surely, undoubtedly hates them all for it.

Now it's Eleanor Calder and Gigi Hadid who will have the spotlights very soon, and Louis just...he doesn't know if that will ever sit well in him.

This same Eleanor Calder that he and his best friend are discussing now, Louis doesn't know much about her, they've just been in a couple of meetings with the rest of his team. Well, aside from the fact that she stole something or someone from Nicholas though.

However, no matter what the rumors are saying about her reputation of 'fucking her way up the corporate ladder'—hence the incident with Max Hurd, Nick's ex-fuck buddy, her former boss whom she'd worked for as a secretary—Louis will still stick to his attitude of being not one to judge. He doesn't  _and_  shouldn't give a damn about other people's businesses, besides, specially not bother about whom they let their bodies or genitals alike be fondled by. Louis just...he hasn't a care on those. Unless he's the one being done such act though or one that's opposed to his liking, maybe then.

" _Oh, tu ne le sauras jamais jusqu'à ce que quelqu'un l'attrape, bien sûr !_  (Oh, you will never know until someone would catch her, of course!)" Nick exclaims then, causing Louis to pull his phone away from his ear there for a second. " _Je jure devant Dieu, c'est de cette façon que les traîtres font leurs sales métiers... Je l'ai vu moi-même, Louis. Je l'ai vu !_ (I swear to god, that's how snakes do their dirty jobs... I've seen it myself, Louis. I've seen it!)"

And, sure, Louis sympathizes about his best friend's unfortunate mishaps, but again, Louis is not the type of person to just go along with gossips and add fuel to the fire, so he doesn't say anything to Nick to encourage his seething, instead he forges on with something else, " _Nick, Harry me déteste._  (Nick, Harry hates me.)"

He cringes to himself at saying that out loud, but he supposes he'll live. Also, maybe it's okay to talk about it with Nicholas... About Harry being mad at him. After all, they always tell each other everything, right?

" _Il te déteste ? Pourquoi toi ? Louis, il devrait détester Eleanor ! Psh !_ (Hates you? Why you? Louis, he should be hating on Eleanor! Psh!)"

" _Pourquoi elle ? Ce n'était pas sa faute, c'était celle de—_  (Why her? It wasn't her fault, it was my team's—)"

" _Deux secondes, Lewis. Je pense que j'ai de la compagnie. Attends_. (Hold on, Lewis. I think I have some company. Wait.)" There's some shuffling noise coming from Nick's end, and then Louis can hear him talking to someone in the background, before he's returning to address Louis, " _Merde, Ryan est là. On continuera la prochaine fois ?_ (Shit, Ryan's here. Let's continue this next time?)" He sounds hopeful. Damn it.

" _Okay Nick. Pas de soucis—_  (Okay, Nick. It's cool—)" And there goes the call.

Louis lowers down his phone and stares at it. He blinks. That fucker living the high school puppy love era, fucking unbelievable. He shakes his head and slumps back down on the bed.

So what now?

**~*~**

Louis stays in bed for the next couple of hours, just staring up at the ceiling. He's gone shirtless now, just his black Adidas trackies worn on him and his Rolex watch. His hands are clutching his Samsung phone, planning on calling Harry up, but not actually daring to do so. What will Harry tell him? To hang up the phone? Tell him he's being difficult? Make use of the hurtful words on him one more time, yell at him over the phone about giving him some space and all that crap?

Fuck. Louis doesn't think he can take any more of those. Not right now, at least.

     

He sidles his head to glance sideways and stares out at the open window of the room, white curtains swaying due to the fanning air breeze; it's really peaceful this afternoon, Louis is home alone, and...in contempt of he is supposed to be at work right now, he reckons he hasn't the heart and stamina for that. He'll just be all over the place. It's a bad idea to barge in there right now and pretend he's in it yet again for another full run knowing he's just lost in his palms the greatest muse he's ever had. And, like, it used to be so simple for Louis when it was just him and Liam. When he was the boss of his own, and was not following some other people's perspectives, rules and principles.

Then again, he wouldn't be where he is now if it also wasn't for their millions of connections, he somehow owes it to them too.

Louis closes his eyes and sighs. He rolls off the bed and stalks towards the small veranda. He lets his bare feet cool as he steps on the marble ground, hands gripping around the railings as he peers outside his house.

He's bought this place after Harry celebrated his 22nd birthday with him back in Coney Island, where, finally Louis rode the Cyclone. That stupid roller coaster ride that he kept on claiming to be quite murderous, going on and on about how it was to give him a heart attack. But in the end, all was good, and Harry had been the merriest. Louis treated him to some popcorn and corn dogs, then they sat on a bench where he'd slept on Louis' shoulder as they gazed over the ocean until dusk. About the house, Louis had always thought about purchasing it, planning by himself and saving some money in the bank. He wanted to surprise Harry to which he had been successful with. It's a two-storey house with steel terraces and windows, just a small one with enclosed spaces, a vintage, Victorian spiral staircase made of legitimate iron that will lead to the kitchen and living area, a small library next to a guest room, and then an office for Louis, and finally this, the master's bedroom with its own en suite.

It's an all-white themed house with some jet-blacks as its added aesthetics, because Louis knows how Harry adores them white and classical. It's like that with them; Louis has black items while Harry's showered with the white. Like with cars and properties, even the ones they would rent. Their phones too, although on that part it could've been completely coincidental.

His quirky Del Rey...

How could Louis let this happen? He breathes in, shutting his eyes. " _Merde_."

He pulls his phone out and quick-dials Liam Payne.

"Louis?" He answers immediately.

" _Rejoins-moi à Holybelly. J'y serais dans vingt minutes._ (Meet me in Holybelly. I'll be there in twenty.)"

" _Uh, o-okay, Lou. À tout à l'heure._  (Uh, o-okay, Lou. See you.)" He doesn't wait for Liam to hang up the phone and just proceeds to do it himself. Then he's stepping back inside the room to change into some fresh new clothes.

**~*~**

     

Louis sits on a wooden chair with a cushion opposite to Liam. They're in Holybelly, a coffee bar that is popular among both foreign tourists and local regulars (especially weekend brunch-goers), who are lively and cheerful, a place Louis has grown fond of over the years he's dined here. It's really cool being in this area, see, even with the  _Beastie Boys_  blaring from the speakers and aproned staffers quickly weaving between tables; the crowd is laid back and casual, just the way Louis likes it. This Parisian coffee bar in particular serves one of the best brunches in town, since it has evolved into a full restaurant with a savory breakfast menu that includes hearty egg dishes, granolas, oatmeals, and the best pancakes in the city. And, Louis reckons, these kind of scenes tend to wash away the negative thoughts he'll have in his head, hence the choice of meetup place with his assistant slash close friend.

They've ordered and settled already, and a youthful looking server has gone through to their picks and is just about bringing them their food and beverages and Louis has yet to spill to Liam what has had his pants in a twist and invited him over when they should've been in the office ages ago.

Meanwhile, Liam has been kind enough not to ask Louis what the matter is, probably because he already knows. Still, Louis is grateful he isn't nagging Louis like he would, usually.

So that has Louis grabbing on the opportunity to look at his surroundings in and outside of the coffee bar itself; he takes to admiring the wood-planes and cottage-like interior of the place, the bright-lighting coming from the loft type ceilings. He inspects the people eating in and minding their own business, sipping on some brewed coffee and taking some slices out of their pancakes, and he thinks, this... This is how he used to do it with his first few art works back in college.

Louis loves his hometown, no matter if he had a lot of bad memories here, still, he adores Paris like it's his first born child. This is where, after all, he first found out that what he wants to do for the rest of his life is paint and produce and keep creating, giving birth to masterpieces people never would have known could exist if it wasn't for him.

This place is very important to Louis, much like his profession; those two are a big part of who he is and what he is. He can never let go of those, not too if he dared to try. It's not even about the money, but rather the satisfying feeling and joy that course through his body whenever he's clutching on a paintbrush and conveying what he wants to explain through stacks and slants of illustrations. It's the soulful aura and blazing blue fire sort of thing that it brings him that's making him continuously pursuing this passion.

Louis isn't giving this up for anyone. Not himself nor his family...not even Harry. He needs to make it up with him though, because Harry is something Louis can also never ever neglect. Much like his love for painting.

" _Voici votre commande, messieurs_  (Here are your orders, sirs)," the same waitress from earlier says cheerfully as she places a tray filled with their plates of food over the table in front of them, grinning massively afterwards, " _Bon appétit ! Et si vous avez besoin de quoi que ce soit, mon nom est Karen, je me ferais un plaisir de vous servir._ (Happy munching! And if you ever need anything, the name is Karen, I'll be more than willing to serve.)"

Louis looks down at his own plate filled with some Sweet stack, this coffee bar's world famous pancakes with seasonal fruits, cream, roasted hazelnuts and organic maple syrup, and releases a sigh. He takes his cutlery and begins eating. Halfway through, Louis peers up just in time to see Liam having a large bite out of his own Savory stack, an order of pancakes with fried eggs, bacon, house-made Bourbon butter and maple syrup, almost shaking his head at the sight of him. And he laments, it's been awhile since they've done this just the two of them. For almost a year, all Louis did was work, paint, and travel. He'd made some small talks with Liam, had a bit of banter with him during shifts, but not like this—a lunch in a secluded area bothering with no one but them. Louis realizes then, he never brought Harry to this place and he wishes now that he should have.

Too late for regrets.

"Li—"

"Louis."

Louis gestures with his hand as if to tell Liam to go on and tell him.

Clearing his throat, Liam tells him, " _Eh bien, j-j'ai remarqué que tu n'as pas dit un seul mot depuis qu'on est arrivé ici... Je veux juste m'assurer que tout va bien ?_ (Well, I—I've noticed how you haven't spoken a single word since we got here... Just want to make sure everything is good now?)"

" _Que tout va bien ?_  (Good now?)"

Liam nods. " _Ouais. Entre, tu sais... Harry et toi ?_ (Yeah. With, you know... you and Harry?)"

Louis purses his lips. He takes his cup off the table near his plate and takes a sip. Brewed, just the way he likes it. " _Non, Liam, malheureusement. Il me déteste. Il ne veut plus me voir, me parler. J'ai peut être été injuste envers lui. Je ne lui ai pas fait part du changement au moment où je l'ai appris._ (No, Liam, sadly. He hates me. Wouldn't want to see me, talk to me. I might've been unfair with him... I didn't tell him about the change the moment I knew about it.)"

" _Je vois... J'imagine que c'est compréhensible._ (I see... I guess that's understandable.)"

Louis places back the cup on the table, and he stretches his arms, squares his shoulders, before he's slamming his palms over the platform. " _Okay. Je veux me changer les idées, mais pas maintenant, pas ce soir. Voudrais-tu me rejoindre si l'occasion se présente ?_ (Right. I want to get my mind off things for quite a bit, not right now though, not tonight. But would you care to join me if the opportunity arises?)"

" _Où ça ?_  (Where to?)" Liam blinks back at him, eyebrows raising high on his forehead.

" _Je sais pas, mec. Au Truskel ?_ (I don't know, man. Le Truskel?)"

" _Uh... Cet espèce de micro-club ? C'est pas, genre, un endroit pour les adolescents soi-disant énervés ?_  (Err... that micro-club thing? Isn't that, like, a spot for the so-called edgy teen hipsters?)" Liam squints his eyes as he fixes Louis a look.

Louis smirks. " _Pourquoi ? Tu penses être trop bon pour eux ?_ (Why? Think you're too good for the soft teens?)"

He watches the way Liam's cheeks turn a slight pink, squirming under his mischievous gaze, and until he's allowing himself to let out a string of chuckles. Which, glorious, that. It's not all the time that Louis would tease Liam like this—they're used to acting all professional and anxious around each other, always discussing about work and appointments, so it's really lovely to be witnessing Liam like this. Flustered and  _human_.

" _Non_  (No)," Liam huffs, " _Je pensais juste que tu n'apprécierais pas cet endroit. J'y suis déjà allé une fois, avec Soph et Freya, et on est resté seulement dix minutes avant que ta fille ne demande à partir._ (I just thought that maybe you won't enjoy it there. I've gone there once, with Soph and Freya, and we only had to stay for a whole ten minutes before your daughter was asking that we leave.)"

Louis laughs. " _Comment se fait-il que je ne sois pas invité ? Vous sortez faire la fête avec ma fille ? Sans moi ?_ (How come I'm not being invited from your get-together? You're going out partying with my daughter? Without me?)"

" _Eh bien, tu ne penses pas que ça fait sens ? Elle est ta fille et elle a vingt ans !_ (Well, doesn't that make any sense? She's your twenty-year old daughter!)" Liam guffaws, leaning back on his seat as he loosens up, the stoic demeanor he's gone accustomed to wearing like a cloak around his 'boss' melting away. " _Ça ne serait pas approprié qu'elle aille danser avec des gars de son âge alors que sont père est dans la même pièce qu'elle, tu ne crois pas ?_  (Wouldn't sound appropriate if she'd be out dancing with dudes her age while she's aware how her father is in the same room as she now, would it?)"

" _Okay, Okay. Alors, qu'est-ce que tu suggère, Mister fêtard ?_  (Fine, fine. So what do you suggest then, Mister Party-goer?)" Louis humors, sipping some more out of his black coffee.

Liam puts a finger under his chin as he ponders for a second. Before he's snapping it with his thumb. " _Ah, je connais un bon endroit, Lou._  (Ah, I know a good one, Lou.)"

" _Ah ouais ? Où ?_ (Yeah? Where?)"

" _Tu penses quoi du Social Club ?_ (How about Social Club?)"

" _Ça a l'air chic._  (Sounds fancy.)"

Liam does a hand gesture as if to imply 'it's not so bad in my opinion', " _Eh bien, ouais. Un peu, oui. C'est à Mont-Martre, au centre des Grands Boulevards. Ils ont des DJ internationaux avec un lieu électro complet. Tu aimeras probablement._  (Well, yeah. Kind of, yes. It's in Montmartre, in the center of the Grands Boulevards. They've got international DJs with the whole electro venue boasts going on for them. You might just love it.)"

" _C'est vrai ?_ (Is that so?)" Louis cocks a brow, intrigued.

" _Je le sais._  (I know so.)" Liam grins.

Louis blows out a breath, shrugging nonchalantly. " _D'accord, c'est toi l'expert. Laisse moi juste appeler ce fleuriste pas loin de notre maison de plage._ (Alright then, you're the expert. Let me just call up that flower shop near our beach house.)"

" _À New York ? Pour faire quoi ?_  (In New York? What for?)"

" _Eh bien, devoirs de copain_ (Well, boyfriend duties)," Louis murmurs out, completely unashamed, whipping his phone out and is glad to see that at least Harry texted him to say he's made it back in Brooklyn. That's a good sign, right? Louis won't even have to worry about the fact that the message itself is begrudging-sounding.  ** _Home in East coast. Don't try to chase after me, or I'll swear to jesus mary and joseph I'll scream._**

He doesn't reply to it, instead he dials up a florist, asks to prepare him plenty of roses, all the vintage ones they have, in every fucking color off the rainbow chart and have them sent to his and Harry's Brooklyn beach house's address. He and Liam later on leave the coffee bar, then split up as he clambers in his black Chevy and promise to meet up some night this week in this Social Club Liam is pertaining to should Louis feel the need to take his mind off things.

He supposes that might just be sooner than he expects, knowing himself to be the worst if left alone to himself whenever facing some unwanted melancholics in his life.

**~*~**

Comes the next day, Louis finally decides to attend to work.

He stands before a blank canvas with Calder and Hadid chattering in the background, just lounging about the provided couches within his studio. Somehow, he feels rather fortunate that the area is quite spacious, otherwise he would've lost it and maybe snap at the two ladies who are creating too much noise that's causing him to lose his footing here. He's struggling enough to think of a concept for this new project he has on his hands, and their high-pitched voices are absolutely not helping at all.

Louis shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a hand resting above his hip, his other free hand mindlessly scratching the scruff under his chin.

He chances a look at the models sat all relaxed and deftly loose right on the plush couches at one corner of the room, studying their postures, the flicks of their wrists as they talk with hand gestures, then the shape of their faces and other features, his gaze returning back to the blank canvas. He picks up the palette he's always used for work, looking at the smudges of dry acrylic oil paints all over it, the blacks, the browns, the flesh tones and, he changes his mind almost instantly as he puts it back to the pile.  _No_ , he thinks,  _this is the one he's always been using when he paints his Del Rey._

" _Merde_ ," he curses under his breath, feeling nauseous all the sudden. He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes as he grunts out, frustrated. Why is this so hard? When did he become so unimaginative towards the field he's mastered over the fucking years? He can't come up with a concept!

With Harry it comes so easily with him, so naturally, he doesn't even have to brainstorm this much. But with new subjects like these two women, it's not easy at all. It's entirely different, it's as though he's back at square one. With everything, like he's a beginner. He can think of many things, however, they're just snippets and fragments without an actual context and foundation in them; they're not worthy of his skills as a painter. They are either too shabby or common and he's afraid he might come off unoriginal. And as he marvels even more, he's coming into terms of he needs Harry to be his subject, not these two. How can management just ask of him to make something that's quite impossible?

Clearly, they have no clue how artists respectively do their jobs.

It's been an hour since they've all gathered here and still, Louis has nothing.

Louis rolls his eyes, defeated. And it's just about time then that one of the ladies finally noticed his presence, or rather his negative aura.

" _Louis ? Un problème, trésor ?_ (Louis? Problem, dear?)" It's Gigi that's asked, standing up from where she's been sitting with her leg propped over the other.

Louis rubs at his temples, then offers her a look, managing to smile. " _Ouais, c'est juste... Des pensées critiques. J'essaie de trouver quelque chose pour que vous soyez toutes les deux élégantes et que vous ayez l'air de duchesses - comme dans mes peintures._ (Yeah, just...doing some critical thinking. Trying to come up with something to have you both elegant and Duchess-like in my paintings.)"

"Oh," Gigi muses, and then she's coming towards him. Louis watches her, the clicking of her heels sounding as she takes stride after stride. " _Ça doit bien se passer, alors, j'espère ?_  (Must be going well, then, I hope?)"

Oh, the irony.

" _Oui, tout va bien. Pas de soucis. J'ai juste besoin d'un peu de temps._ (Yes, all is good. No worries. Just, I need a bit of time.)"

She rounds the easel and stands next to Louis.  _Gee, what a tall girl_ , muses Louis in his head. They both stare at the blank, dull-looking canvas in front of them, and—Gigi blinks.

She dares a side-glance Louis' way, and she speaks slowly, calmly, almost making Louis grit his teeth in embarrassment, " _Trésor, je pense que... tu as besoin de te détendre ?_  (Dear, I think...you need to relax?)"

Louis looks down at the ground, kicks at the carpeted floor out of spite and tilts his head to glance back at her. " _Tu penses ?_  (You think so?)" God, he sounds so small and weak right now. Fuck.

"Yes," she confirms, nodding solemnly.

Louis blows out a breath, producing some blabbering noise with his lips. " _Eh bien, je vais être honnête avec toi. J'ai probablement besoin de quelques jours pour trouver une idée._ (Well, I'll be honest with you. I might need a few days to come up with something.)" He shakes his head. " _Ce... Ça ne marche pas très bien pour moi. J'ai sérieusement du mal. Je ne sais pas ce qu– ce qui m'a pris. Je ne suis habituellement pas comme ça, je le jure—_  (This... this is not working out all good for me. I'm seriously having a hard time. I don't know what's—what's gotten into me. I'm not usually like this, I swear—)"

" _Hey, qu'est-ce qui ne va pas ?_  (Hey, what's wrong?)" Eleanor suddenly pipes up, as she too comes towards the two of them by the easel. She peers over and then her eyes are landing on Louis, understanding immediately what's up. " _Oh mon— Louis, ça va. Écoute, on a pas vraiment commencé de toutes façons, pas vrai ? Tu voulais juste qu'on vienne aujourd'hui pour étudier nos physiques et peut-être t'habituer à ce à quoi nous ressemblons. Pas besoin de t'énerver, poussin._ (Oh, my, Louis, that's fine. Look, we haven't really started anyway, right? You just want us here today so you can study our physiques and maybe get used to how we look like. No need to get so worked up, darling.)"

And well, if she didn't just hit the nail right on the head.  _Right on Louis' head._  How can he, really, get used to them? How does he do that exactly when any and all physiques that he wants to get used to are Harry's? Everything with Harry. Everything that is Harry.

But. This is work, this is something that Louis shouldn't take so personally. Then again, everything about his passion and Harry, are same things that he will always want to take to heart, so...

Eleanor is right though.

" _Tu as raison_  (You're right)," Louis eventually concedes. " _Est-ce qu'on peut, genre, prendre une pause ? Je dois appelé mon fiancé, je dois prendre de ses nouvelles. C'est okay ?_  (Can we like, take a break? I need to call my fiance, I need to check up on him. Will that be okay?)"

Gigi and Eleanor nod their heads, willing and earnest. " _Oui, bien sûr, Louis_  (Yes, sure, Louis)," Eleanor says.

" _C'est toi le patron. Ne t'inquiètes pas pour nous_ (You're the boss. Don't worry about us)," Gigi tells as much.

" _Merci_ ," murmurs Louis. " _Je vais vous faire apporter à boire et de quoi grignoter pendant ce temps. Faites comme chez vous._ (I'll have someone get you some drinks and something to munch on in the meantime. Make yourselves feel at home.)"

" _D'accord._ (Alrighty.)"

" _Ça m'a l'air bien._ (Sounds good.)"

Louis turns his back on them as he taps hastily on his phone, asking Liam who's just in the next room, to bring in some food and drinks for the models. Then he's dialing Harry's number, not even bothering to check what time it is in New York. He just needs to see his face, hear his voice, something.

Harry accepts the video call, thankfully.

Louis pulls his phone back a bit to angle it, making sure Harry will see enough of him clearly.

"Baby," Louis starts, heart already tugging hard in his chest just by taking in the look on Harry, curly hair disheveled and unkempt, wearing just his signature silk robe in the color of rosegold this time. Seems like he's just woken up.

"Hey, Lou."

"I'm sorry for calling out of the blue, I just want to hear your voice," admits Louis in a rush, doesn't want to be cryptic; the last thing he wants is for Harry to just hangup on his face the way he can. The only ever person who can hangup on Louis without Louis getting pissed.

Gosh. And here he is, feeling small yet again. He feels silly sounding like this—as if he's begging to talk to his own fiance. His own fucking fiance.

"What is this about now, Louis?" Harry sighs, rubbing softly at his eyes. Louis wants to reach out so badly so he can maybe do that himself...but that would be impossible and stupid though for they're a thousand miles away from each other and are talking over the phone. "Look, just because you—"

"No, Harry, please. This isn't—this is not about  _that_. I just want to hear your..." He trails off, asking himself if it will be too much. After all, Harry still hates him.

"My what?" Harry murmurs back in question, when Louis' expected him to snap. Harry can get so feisty sometimes it scares Louis.

Louis swallows. "Your singing voice,  _mon amour_."

From furrowing his eyebrows, Harry's face magically softens, and that in itself has Louis' heartbeats at a steady rate. "Oh."

Louis slowly nods. Call Louis desperate, but he wants to get lost in it, in Harry's voice, he wants to be  _inspired_. Whatever magic Harry holds in him that Louis has the need to be in his vicinity to be creative.

Louis watches closely as Harry makes to stand and then the next thing is he's leaving his phone to prop over something on the nightstand. Louis acknowledges then that Harry's inside their bedroom in their beach house in Brooklyn, seeing as he has memorized the look of the area, its color scheme, the interior, the mirrors all over their walls and ceilings, the sheets and the curtains and windows, everything.

Louis narrows his gaze and...he catches with his eyes, right there. The roses he bought for Harry yesterday. He's received them.

Just then, Harry returns in front of the screen. Louis can see a sliver of his limp dick, peeking out in between the fabric of his robes, and fuck...fuck, if that isn't what Louis wants to do to him. "What song, Lou?" Harry suddenly asks, making Louis snap out of it.

     

He assesses the part where Harry has sat on the bed again now with his guitar over his lap, letting go of it only so he can tie his curls up around a neat bun, then picking it up again, long dainty fingers with rings decorating them pressing on the strings. He's strumming it aimlessly, softly, unaware of how he's warming up Louis' heart just by the mere fact that he's also wearing the engagement ring Louis has given him all those months ago as he'd said yes to his proposal of a marriage, probably just waiting for Louis to pick a song as they both pass off upon mentioning it.

Alright, Louis thinks about the latter then. What song? He hasn't heard from Harry's songwriting lately and somehow, he wants to now. Louis clears his throat. "Sing me something from what you have been working on as of late. Only if that's fine with you, of course."

And Harry doesn't say a word anymore, doesn't say no, doesn't say yes; he just begins strumming. It's a slow tune, his head bobbing up and down along to the melody of it. Louis watches as Harry closes his eyes and parts his lips open, recites quietly, bringing chills to Louis instantly, "I don't belong in the world, that's what it is. Something separates me from other people. Everywhere I turn, there's something blocking my escape..." He trails off, then he begins to sing, " _It took thirteen beaches to find one empty, but finally, it's mine... With dripping peaches, I'm camera ready, almost all the time..._ " He stops for just a short second, then he's continuing, " _But I still get lonely, and, baby, only then... do I let myself recline. Can I let go? And let your memory dance, in the ballroom of my mind... across the county line._ "

He looks up to look straight into the screen. Louis can't feel his face. " _It hurts to love you, but I still love you... It's just the way I feel. And I'd be lying, if I kept hiding... The fact that I can't deal._ " Harry closes his eyes as he takes a sharp inhale, before belting out, " _And that I've been dying... For something real. That I've been dying... For something real._ "

It's a good five-minute song including the mellow instrumentals, and fuck...Louis realizes only now how it's been ages since Harry sang for him like this. In private. One on one, just the two of them—with something that Harry has never released yet for someone else to listen to before Louis can, something he's just been working on. Louis breathes out as soon as Harry's finished singing the rest of the lyrics, and, Louis doesn't know what to make of that as he stares back at Harry, speechless.

"Thirteen Beaches," Harry says, breaking the silence. "The title I have for it."

Louis licks his lips. "That was... that was such a sad song, baby."

Harry shrugs, putting down his guitar. "Yeah, well. I get like that sometimes."

"I see you have received my gifts," comments Louis, proceeding to sit over his office desk.

Harry looks behind him, looks at the vintage roses that are piled carefully at a corner in their massive bedroom, still in their wrappers and baskets, looking quite fresh and new. Then he returns his attention back to Louis. "Thanks. Love 'em," he mumbles, looking down on his hands.

If only Louis can go through the screen of his phone though...

Seconds pass, and none of them dared to speak. Until Louis decides to be honest. "Didn't think it'd be this difficult to be so far away from you when I'm fully aware you are upset with me, darling."

Harry chances him a look, and he's all too quiet and still looking hesitant. He looks sad, mostly, less lively and eyes gloomy. Louis aches to touch him, to embrace him, to make him feel all better again. But he knows that thing just won't be granted right now. "Me too..." Harry says, voice monotonous. Louis bites his lip, longing, and it's quiet once more. Just when Louis is about to speak up, Harry stands up abruptly, hastily as if to cut him off on purpose and then he's bringing his phone close to his face, tells Louis with a shuddering tone coating his voice, "I... I can't do this. N-Not like this. I need to go, Lou."

Ah, joy. Can you hear that? It's Louis' heart, it's breaking in half.

"Okay. I am sorry I called too soon."

Harry blinks at the screen, lips set into a straight line. He opens his mouth, shakes his head, "I love you, Lou. But not right now, we shouldn't really be talking yet as if nothing important has been sabotaged."

Louis can feel himself frowning, throat closing up. Harry's right. "I understand. I love you too."

"Always, yeah?" Harry says, hopeful, sounding breathless.

Louis is about to reply,  _Yes, always, yes, my love_ , but Gigi and Eleanor suddenly appear from behind him, while he's still on the phone with Harry, wholly and utterly swallowed by oblivion.

"Ohh, it's your fiance. Hello, dove!" Gigi chirps, peering over Louis' shoulder.

"Harry! Hi," Eleanor beams, waving next to Gigi behind Louis.

Harry from all across the globe suspends to curling in on himself, Louis can see it, the way he's flinching as though he's touched something boiling, and then he's forcing himself to wave back. "Hi..."

Giggles erupt from both the ladies, and Louis has no choice but to cringe internally, witnessing the way Harry looks as if he wants to pounce on them by...by what? By leaning in too close to Louis? Louis knows how Harry can get easily jealous, but he'd tell him if that's the case, he'd always nag it on Louis, he'd be bold about it, vocal. Right now though, he's just suppressing his emotions and that kills Louis.

"Have to go," murmurs Harry at last, and before Louis can even say goodbye, Harry's already ending the video call, and that causes the two girls behind him to wonder what just happened.

Louis wants to roll his eyes, but he won't. He faces them. " _Devrions nous retourner aux canapés alors, mesdemoiselles ?_ (Shall we return to our places by the couches then, ladies?)" He tells them, dismissive.

The girls grin at him, nodding happily, excitedly, and then they're making the beeline for the couches. Louis allows himself to finally breathe, stuffing his phone back in his pocket.

**~*~**

The next few days is much the same. Louis is having some laborious experience trying to envision a concept, despite he's made some effort by some strategic thinking just like how he used to do it before Harry came to his life—like biking around town to be inspired for one, surmising Paris is a lavish city, listen to some songs that he's inclined to, even Harry's songs on the radio... He's also ventured to admiring some paintings in other galleries and museums, and even visited some ancient churches downtown but...alas. It's never been like this. He's always perceived something as a result. But ostensibly, ever since Harry, he's just gone so accustomed to creating art works out of him that it's been so fucking seamlessly accessible.

It's as if he's become rather dependent on how it'd be about a beautiful young man with the long luscious curls and dimpled smiles and prominent jawlines that it's suddenly impenetrable for him to just change his techniques and create them out of females' body structures and features alike.

This is driving him nuts that even when he's mixing colors, it will always encapsulate to Harry's color palette that he's memorized into originating in just a course of a year and some months. From Harry's skin complexion to Harry's hair color down to his eye color and even Louis' hand strokes when he sketches the faces of his new patrons. There will always be the heart-shaped face of Harry that will appear before him, and then his pointed nose, his deep craters and that Cheshire cat grin. Louis is in pain and he maybe needs a couple of booze or so to get his game up and going.

So that's where he finds himself two hours later, abandoning his work, the thing he and Liam talked about a week ago now settled in a nightclub, with Barbara, Louis' childhood friend, one he's met during college who's also studying art and is a freelance graphic designer herself.

She tagged along when she found out that Louis' in town, seeing that he's always either in another country or back in the US with Harry, they haven't gotten the time to catch up. Harry doesn't know about Barbara, but Barbara knows who Harry is and what or who he is in Louis' life. That's why the minute she spots Louis sat on a stool beside the bar, figure blending with the dancing strobelights and face transcended by colorful hues of silhouettes, she's quick to squeal and hug him, congratulating him nonstop about his engagement with Harry.

" _Où est Liam ?_ (Where's Liam?)" He asks as soon as they part, her laughter ringing in Louis' ears together with the booming music all over the club.

They're in Le Social Club, the heart of the Parisian night scene by its policy where the requirement always takes precedence over the trend. Known for its unmissable theater of unusual evenings, presenting a heterogeneous program of the most cutting-edge, mixing international headliners of today and discovering those of tomorrow. A bold and avant-garde identity that decomposes styles, genres and audiences, respectively, offering moments of energy, celebration and sharing in close proximity between artists and clubbers.

It's an awesome place. Louis' enjoying himself despite he hasn't drank that many drinks, been waiting for Liam and Barbara.

Pointing towards the dance floor, between throngs of bodies in shimmery bodycon dresses matched with tinkling louboutins, and jeans and leathers, Barbara yells over the noise, " _Juste là !_ (Right there!)"

As if on cue, Liam appears before them, going through the crowd, getting nudged along the way, and until he's standing in front of them, he and Louis stepping in for a one-arm hug. " _Lad ! Je pensais que tu me laisserais tomber !_  (Lad! Thought you'd ditched me!)" Louis laughs.

Liam apologizes for making it late, but Louis waves him off. " _C'est rien ! Allons prendre des shots._  (It's fine! Let's get some shots.)" He turns around to assess the bartender. " _Excusez-moi. Nous allons prendre des shots, donnez nous en au moins cinq._  (Excuse me. We'll take some shots, give us at least five rounds.)"

And they have a couple of drinks from there, Louis pays, and they dance after some time, joining the wild sea of grinding girls and boys, jumping and swaying along to any and all type of remix music.

Louis' here because he needs to loosen up and move on from the poignancy that's building up inside him, fully responsible that he can't just continue bottling it up, otherwise he'll explode. And he doesn't want to explode. He knows how he gets when that happens and he hates it. He wants out of the situation at hand. Quite frankly, not because he's a confident man, but he can't believe he'll one day be forbearing this type of blues in accordance to his passion. He's always been so sure of himself; all the good things that he'd been so positive of that will follow up this dream of his, only if he takes risks out of this career—out of this path he's taken as a route. But he supposes what Harry Styles can do to him.

What his obsession for Harry Styles' physiques can do to him.

**~*~**

He wakes up with a hangover, and it's fucking ghastly.

Louis makes himself some tea, working quietly in the kitchen as he nurses his head with some temple rubs. When the nausea doesn't leave him after he's taken his tea, Louis eventually rummages through the cupboards and locates himself some Midol for his head. He remembers Harry supplying him some of those, back when they partied in Sacramento before heading for a hotel.

He swallows a pill, then he's chugging down the rest of his scalding mug of Twinings. He ignores the burning sensation on his tongue.

He walks towards the living room, staring at the place at large, deeming how it looks rather...dead. Lifeless.

Just like how he feels.

His head is throbbing, his heart is stuck on his mouth, this house looks haunted and he wants to go where Harry may be right now.

He just...oddly feels weak being without him in this moment. He's feeling ill and he wants his warm hug, is that too much to ask?

Louis closes his eyes and groans, crushed; he flops down on one of the couches and puts both of his hands on his face all but meaning to hide himself from the world. Louis can't explain it, it's weird. What does he even know at this point? He's never felt so fucking wretched all his life. Harry has a great impact to him, that much is evident.

And, Louis keeps on fighting it, isn't he? He keeps on denying it to himself. He went out last night for the sole purpose of...of what exactly? For neglecting the fact that his light is slowly but surely fading away? He thought that by doing that, he'll forget about what's reeling in reality. Reality wherein Harry doesn't want to talk to him, doesn't want to breathe the same air as him, is not affectionate and a loving fiance towards him.

He can't even remember when exactly anymore the last time Harry smiled so genuinely at him, as if it's gone on for far too long, in spite of it only being  _weeks_ of them fighting.

On the other hand, Louis can't go on with his life if things are as shit as they are. Fuck. It's proven now. Fucking shit.

He bolts right up from his slumped position on the couch and marches back up the stairs. He needs to calm the fuck down. He has to.

He chooses to get high.

**~*~**

Louis wakes up for the second time that same day, visions blurry and beard thicker, lines and wrinkles peppering his facial features, almost looking like a homeless man with the way he's moping. He grits his teeth in anger, but he knows he can't just ignore it. His sleep is disturbed abruptly not because he's bound to, but because of his phone blaring Bruno Coulais.

He received a call from one of the investors it's turned out, and they are demanding him of something—asking if there's anything he's done so far. He tells them nothing, with no hesitation. Unvexed as he feels tranquility from within grateful for the kush he's profited, he admits he has nothing. " _Nous comptons sur vous, Tomlinson. Ne gâchez pas ça. Ne nous décevez pas. Vous savez qu'il y a beaucoup d'autres artistes talentueux, hein ? Nous pouvons facilement vous expulser—_ (We're counting on you, Tomlinson. Don't mess this up. Don't disappoint us. You know there are a lot of other talented artists out there, right? We can easily kick you out—)"

Louis hangs up on them. " _Et puis merde._ (Fuck off.)" And then he's returning back to sleep.

**~*~**

The next few weeks pass like a blur, although each day has felt like years and years of tormenting and persecution on Louis' part. He goes to work during those weeks, he meets up with Gigi and Eleanor, and yet...nothing. Still nothing. It's like Louis is just giving up really, and Harry doesn't even have a single clue how things are crashing down around Louis.

He's done a few sketches here and there, only so he can crumple the papers and throw them in the bin that's already filled to the brims with all the other crumpled sheets he's dumped in there.

Harry hasn't spoken with him—at least not in the way that Louis will treasure each second as they share hushed voices through the receivers of their mobile phones.

Though Harry hasn't seen much of Louis, aside from their occasional video calls, Louis on the other hand has updates about his fiance. He knows about his whereabouts in the least. He sees Harry in tabloids all around Paris now unlike before, and he figures he's getting bigger and bigger if even in France he's a talk-about singer. Louis sometimes even happens upon some viral interviews of him through his social media sites, where his Del Rey looks quite exquisite. Glowing, healthy and pretty, flushed and fair, lively...stress-free. Dimpling and smirking over someone else's remarks, breaking Louis' heart the more he giggles and laughs with some random interviewers he converses with.

Louis thinks he's doing great, Harry. He's doing just fine without Louis. Well, good. Louis wants nothing but the best for him. Harry shouldn't have the need to worry about Louis' crumbling world and career, besides. And, seeing the love of his life like that—happy with his own perfect bubble and safe haven—is already more than enough.

Then again, as much as he'd like to watch some more of the videos where his Del Rey is, Louis can't. His mental health is at stake. He's longing for the beauty that's radiating from Harry and it's so stupid that even though they're engaged and Harry is all his, Louis still can't seem to reach him. He can't and it causes his breath to hitch.

Louis takes a swig out of the bottle of scotch he's been drinking since this afternoon. It's nearing nighttime and he's out of ideas—something that's been quite a recurring thing lately. He had Eleanor and Gigi over for only an hour before he was calling it a day. He only ever captured their faces in a couple of illustration until he was giving up.

Finishing up the last dregs of the scotch, he leaves it over the kitchen sink and decides he wants to go for a night jog. He changes into some gray trackies and white hoodie, and then he's hitting the streets not caring if he looks out of it, feeling dizzy and lacking capabilities.

Narrow, curvy streets are lit up by yellow lampposts and there are just a few cars driving around at this time. Louis passes people like they are mere shadows minding their own as they weave through and turn corner after corner. He keeps up with running, ignoring the twinge in his stomach, the dolor serving as a bitter reminder that he's still very much existing.

Half an hour later, Louis finds himself slowing down from all the jogging, puffs of breath coming out from in between his lips. He's standing on the road where he and Harry had stopped all those weeks ago, the place where he admitted the problem he had with him and the change in plans with his team. The last place he's seen of Harry looking so painstakingly lovely and clueless.

Louis smooths out a hand over his stomach, his other free hand going for his phone that's nestled in between his waistband and sweating skin. He pulls it out, and without much thought composes a message.

**_I can't take all these ignoring and bypassing anymore, mon petit . Talk to me . :(_ **

It takes five or so minutes before Harry sees the message and replies to it,  ** _Knowing you, Lou? You'd be busy in this hour..._**

**__ **

Louis has to sit on a pavement, gutted as he types out a response,  ** _Am not . I'm standing here under some post light where we did back then , when we were biking round town . I miss you :(x_**

Unexpectedly, Harry calls him up, and Louis almost drops his phone when it vibrates. "Louis," Harry sounds tired, and Louis just—can't help but rack his brains out of answers as to when did Harry ever stop talking to him in a cheery manner. It's been forever ago, hasn't it?

Louis refrains himself from groaning, balked, heart tugging wildly in his chest just by hearing Harry's voice again. Why can't he just hear it all the time? Anytime he wants? He begs him, though, he does, voice soft, "Harry, please. I need you. Let me see you, darling."

"I'm working," comes the short reply.

Louis can't help shake his head, tells him, "Doesn't matter. I'll be there, I'll wait up if that's how it should be. I'll book the fastest one—"

"That's...that's not very you, Loui—"

"Stop calling me that!" Louis snaps, irked. He can't take this side of Harry anymore, it's driving him crazy.

"Call you what?" Harry sounds as if he's not sure what he's making out of Louis. Does he even still care?

Louis clenches his jaw, and he grits out, "My first name! So what, are we addressing each other by first names now?"

"I'm sorry, babe," Harry says with a sigh, resigned.

"Harry..." Louis whispers, crimped, closing his eyes to shut out the lush, "Harry," he repeats, and he surrenders to admission, "I am having some trouble with sleeping, I keep thinking about you being upset with me..."

And that's it. He supposes that's it for Harry. "Can't I just be upset with you now? I'm still mad about you hiding it from me! For  _days_ , Lou! You could've just told me earlier! You haven't even been honest with me!"

"Honest about what?!" Louis growls now, getting angry. Angry about everything. Angry with himself, the management, the fucking bike messenger that passed his defeated self by the street. He fucking hates everything.

"About you finding out!" Harry yells back, making some indignant noise under his breath. "Since when did you find out, Lou?!"

And shit. Shit. Louis did fuck up, didn't he?

Louis pauses. He can't think of a way to say it without seeming so guilty. Fuck.

"So, since when, Lou?" Harry asks again, calmer now. But that just makes it even worse. It triggers something in Louis.

Then again, there's no other way to escape this. He closes his eyes again, puts a hand on his forehead as he ducks his head low. And he whispers out, "Since...the event."

"Event...? You mean...in  _Sacramento?_ "

Louis doesn't answer.

"I'm right about that, aren't I?" Harry sounds teary. No...no... How can Louis let this happen?

He still doesn't say a word, simply doesn't know what to say. His brain is betraying him, his throat, his voice.

"Goodbye, Louis."

His eyes widen, and he's turning numb. "Harry, baby, do not hang up! Please, I need you!" The last part causes him to squeak and that...just doesn't happen. At all.

"You don't need me, Louis," Harry tells him, tone of voice gravelly, drawled out, uninviting and cold, "You're a grown ass man, you should know how to handle things like this just fine." The line goes dead.

Louis stares at the screen of his Samsung, and his visions blur. There are drops of water over it. Tears? He blinks, and there are more drops of water. Shocked, even with himself, Louis throws his phone and he watches blankly as it smashes against the wall.

Louis needs to get sloshed.

**~*~**

So he goes to the same night club where he, Liam and Barbara went to nights ago, because he's a coward and a loser, who suspends into getting wasted just so he can run away from his problems only if for a few hours. He dances, he gets drunk, he lets other people grind against him on the dance floor. He tries to call Harry again using the landline provided by the bar, but he isn't answering. Just to feel better, Louis convinces himself that he must just be asleep. Or working. Or something. He doesn't hate Louis, he hasn't dumped him. No.

It's really strange that he's the one who's calling now. All the time. It's silly that he's the one calling Harry first instead of the other way around—he's so used to Harry calling him first, not him doing the dialing. He downs another shot, after shot, after shot.

Throughout the night, lot of people flirt with him, which is funny and ironic. He's enjoying it however, specially when he witnesses the look of rejection on their faces as soon as they get disappointed when he tells them he's engaged. Just like this little fucker right here, who keeps on hitting on him the entire night, not in the least bit leaning towards modest too, mind. " _Oh, alors où est-il ? Pourquoi n'est t-il pas avec toi ? Te laissant juste ici, te plonger dans l'alcool._  (Oh, where are they then? Why are they not with you? Letting you just wallow yourself here in alcohol.)"

Louis downs another shot, wiping at his lips with the use of his sleeve. " _Mon Harry est... Il est une star, tu vois. Il ne peut pas être avec moi tout de suite._ (My Harry, he's... he's a star, see. He can't be here with me right now.)" He laughs, inebriated. And he gestures around, shaking his head, " _Il est, heu... Il est en train de faire ce que les stars doivent faire. Je suis si fière de lui, tu sais... Ne parle pas en mal de lui, jamais, ou je te ferai expulser d'ici._  (He's, well... he's doing what stars are meant to do. I'm so proud of him, you know... never talk ill of him, or I'll have you kicked out of here.)"

The faceless intruder laughs, bitter and snarky. And he leans over to direct all of his attention and focus on Louis, not caring if he's making someone uncomfortable with his advances. Louis hates that his face is so near that he can smell his stupid breath. " _Oh, une personne puissante avec beaucoup de connexions, hein ? Bordel... Des fous du contrôle comme toi existent toujours ?_ (Oh, powerful person with lots of connections, huh? Fucking hell... proud control freaks like you still exist?)"

Louis scoffs, choosing to stay calm despite he's losing his temper on this one, and he smirks. " _Oui, j'en suis une. Et apparemment, on existe encore. Donc n'essaie même pas, mon vieux._  (Yes, I am. And apparently, we still do. So don't even dare, pal.)"

The man laughs, taunting and condescending, and he shakes his head at Louis. " _Va te faire voir. T'es hilarant n'est-ce pas ? Va te faire enculer, mec._ (Fuck off. You're hilarious, aren't you? Screw you, man.)" He starts to stalk off, but before he does, he sends forth a wink Louis' way, and flashing those teeth around a teasing smirk, sardonically yells over the booming music, " _Je suis désolé pour toi. Tu sais pourquoi ? Parce que je suis sur que ta star est en train de se faire baiser par quelqu'un d'autre de toutes façons, d'où l'absence apparente et toi, ici, seul et saoul._  (I feel sorry for you. Know why? Cause I'm sure that star of yours is getting fucked by someone else anyway, hence the obvious absence and you, being here, alone and drunk off your ass.)"

_Is that so?_

Louis springs up in action, mind whirling in shocking rage, and he taps the man on their shoulder.

And it's as if he's back in that Foster's Home again where he almost grew up, having stayed there for fourteen years without complaints, struggling in secondary education studying in a public school where bullying was a deft recurring thing because apparently, if you're a young closeted gay, you're either weird or a freak, therefore you're a recluse and what you are is a disgusting piece of rubbish. And what does a fourteen-year-old, football enthusiast, foxy-eyed Louis do to those type of bullies anyway? What did he do that got him suspended almost every year, coming home with a pair of bruised knuckles and muddy shoes and uniform, hair askew and golden tan skin covered in dirt, but with a frisky smile plastered on his face, all but triumphant?

Whatever it was, that's what he does with this asshole who's kept on harassing him. He gives him a good throw straight and square on his jaw.

Louis makes a face as he goes  _ooohhfff_  with his free hand balled into a fist over his mouth, bordering on amused because fuck if that didn't feel great. It's a win-win situation for him, see. Louis gets to throw a punch again across some faces of some lone jerks that deserved it, and at the same time get the feeling of satisfying release. All the frustration he's been holding back inside of him crammed together in one jab.

The man scowls, he toppled over but didn't back out. So in the end, Louis gets into a fight. It's a fair brawl. Louis wins, of course, he has blood splatters all across his shaky knuckles. They all end up in a hospital afterward, the bouncers kicking them out and the manager banning them.

Louis with a busted lip is laughing all the way to the ambulance where the nameless man is being hauled in by a stretcher. On their way to the nearest hospital, Louis is asked who to call to get him fetched and he's quick to rattle off Liam's number that he's memorized by heart. Louis has no phone now, he realizes only then.

He's taken care of by nurses who mend his deranged hands, fixing them up with cottons dipped in alcohol and anti-bacterial first aid, then twenty minutes in, Liam comes to his rescue, the worried guy rushing down to get to his own private room.

Louis is smashed, still totally wasted. He's half asleep, can faintly hear Liam who's in the background mumbling something to someone over the phone, before his sights are giving up on him, and everything around him is fading out.

**~*~**

Louis can hear people talking in hushed voices around him. He blinks awake, senses alerted because...he knows that voice. That slow drawl, that deep voice.

He looks to his left, fringe matted over his forehead with damp sweat.

Harry is right in front of him in that black sheer shirt Louis has bought him all those months ago, back when they weren't yet in a relationship, and he's... frowning is the thing. Appearing stressed, worried. And yet, all Louis can think about is,  _God, he looks so beautiful despite all of that._

"Lou..."

"Harry," Louis whispers.  _Is he real? Is this reality? Is Harry really here, for real?_

This Harry begins to look aghast once their gazes meet, and he's quickly gathering Louis up to be in his arms, wrapping his limbs around his pliant body. "Oh, my Louis. Honey, I'm so sorry."

Louis tries to register what's happening. Harry is hugging him? "What...Harry? You're...what are you doing here? When did you get here..." God, his voice is cracking at each syllable, as if someone throated him.

Then he remembers what went down last night. The man he got into a fight with did get a punch in across his chest. Perhaps that's why he sounds hoarse.

"Just this morning, honey. Liam called me last night before you were released from the hospital," Harry explains through hitches of breath. "Oh my gosh, what happened? Were you hurt?" He almost coos, and as if he catches himself, Harry slaps a hand over his cheek and he cries out, "What am I talking about, of course you were hurt!"

Louis makes to sit on the bed. He's home then, he notices belatedly as he shakes his head at Harry. "Harry, baby, I'm fine." He reaches out and he gets a good look at the bandage wrapped around his fist. His eyes go wide. "Fuck. My hands."

"Lou..." Harry frowns deeper and Louis sees he's got tears in his eyes.

Liam walks into the room later; and, oh, he's here too. Liam, who's looking tired as if he barely has sleep himself. "Louis, you're finally awake."

Louis squints through the brightly lit room, "Oui. What happened? How did I get home?"

Sighing, Liam tells him, "I brought you. We're with an ambulance to get you inside with a stretcher. I couldn't carry you myself, you were proper smashed."

"Oh?"

"We might have a problem, Lou."

"Huh..."

Liam motions to his hands. "Your hands. How will you be able to paint with a broken hand?"

And that hits home for Louis, he flicks his gaze to look down on his lap where his hands rest lifelessly. His mouth drops, and he stares back at Harry and Liam, eyes averting as he panics. "No! Fuck! No!" He bolts right up to stand, resulting in Harry backing away and then he stares at his hands again, where there's still stenches of deep red and blood and fuck, now he's feeling it. The underlying pain, the swelling, the painkillers that couldn't conceal their crucial. "This cannot be happening, no..."

Harry hiccups and that steals Louis' attention. "Why did you fight with those people, honey? What's gotten into you?" Harry is full on sobbing now and Louis is out of breath at the sight of him being like that, with his shoulders sagging and eyelashes sticking and damp.

Louis opens his mouth to speak, "Because—," and it all comes rushing back to him. He looks Harry dead straight on the eye. "They were insulting you,  _mon amour_ —! They were talking shit about you."

"W-What?" Harry is confused, brows furrowing together slowly. "How am I... How am I a topic of conversation when I'm not even there? When I'm miles and miles away from here?"

Louis winces, ashamed, but he tells him honestly, "I remember that guy flirting on me—"

"You're out partying and have people hitting on you," Harry deadpans.

"—and I told them off, said I'm engaged—"

"—'kay more like it," Harry huffs, folding his arms against his chest.

"—and they started to ask about you and, I— I told them you're a star. And that you were out there doing what stars did," Louis finishes with a shrug.

"You told them all of that?" Harry blinks back at him, and Louis doesn't miss the way his green eyes glisten with something akin to being awestruck. Is his Harry back? No? Louis doesn't even want to count on it, but he hopes so.

"Yes," he affirms with him, nodding.

And then Harry is suddenly addressing Liam who's still standing there. "Liam, how bad was it?"

The man seems taken aback. "Excuse me?"

Harry's gaze doesn't leave Louis', he doesn't move nor turn around to face Liam properly as he converses with him. "I meant Louis, Liam. How is he coping with the whole...swapping of models."

"He— uh, well—," Louis watches the way Liam is grimacing and Louis can't help sink further down to his spot on the bed, embarrassed. Guilty. Harry sighs.

Louis starts, "Harry—"

"I'm having my hair chopped, Lou."

" _What?!_ " Louis splutters out, because what? Fuck, why? He can't do that. Is it because of Louis? No, no, no... one of Louis' favorites is Harry's hair. Those majestic curls. Louis is fucking obsessed with them, isn't he? It's official. This is bad.

Harry rolls his eyes and looks away as he mutters out, "We're re-branding."

"This early in your career? But you just started...?" Louis points out, rather uselessly.

"They said it'll help boost it." Harry shrugs, looking helpless himself.

Louis sulks. No... no... "But Harry— you know how important your hair is to me."

"I know, but I'm not your subject anymore, Lou. You need to understand that. You need to get a move on." Harry turns away and pouts with petulance, like a disgruntled cat, and Louis has to bite at the inside of his cheek to keep himself from melting on the spot.

" _Me?_  Move on?" He feigns ridiculed, squawking. And he points out, "But aren't  _you_  the one who is still upset with me?"

"I was, Lou," Harry nods, admitting too, "For awhile. Being your model meant so much to me. But like...the other reason why I'm mad at you is not about that." Harry peers up at him, still dejected, "I thought it was very unfair of you to hide it from me and not tell me the minute you heard. You just...you broke the news to me when it's beyond getting resolved. When the models were to  _arrive_. You handed it over to me when whatever I say wouldn't matter anymore."

Louis looks down. "I am real sorry, baby. 'Am sorry..."

Harry reaches out and touches his hand. "But you're still my fiance and I love you too much to stay mad for so long. I figured we can't let some slight changes in our routines ruin everything for us."

"But did you even consider what my reaction to this might be?" Louis asks, taking some strands of Harry's curls and tangling them around his fingers.

Harry leans into it, nodding solemnly. "Of course I did. I thought about it. I knew you would be devastated, which made me decide against it...at first. But management has made a deal with me—Gucci will have me at their campaign—"

Louis splutters, retrieving his hand in the process. "You mean to tell me, you will model for someone else?"

Harry fidgets with his hands, twisting around to look from behind him as if to ask for help, but Liam has left the room long ago. "Honey, I..."

"And you didn't even ask for my opinion before you said yes to them."

"Look, I just... I thought that I'm not gonna be the one you will paint anymore, so it's fine if I cut my hair. I swear, babe, it's all just about my hair getting chopped off, it has so little to do with me modeling for someone who isn't—"

"Who is not me," finishes Louis for him, sounding bitter, voice biting.

Louis suddenly feels his throat closing up, and he can't breathe. God fucking damn it. Why is everything suddenly crumbling down around Louis? Ever since his team turned their backs on Harry, everything turned to shit! Or is this actually how it's supposed to be and Louis just didn't see it coming?

"When are you having a haircut then?" Louis can already hear his glass heart being hammered into small tiny shards, the image of Harry's hair being cut by them pair of sharp silver scissors, the lengthy parts of his curls dropping to the floors around him. His Del Rey. Louis never once in his life imagined himself dreading over something as petty as this. A stupid haircut, fucking seriously, Tomlinson? This is how bad your obsession over Harry's being has become?  _Still ever the control freak you are, you sod._

"As soon as a small gig in Atlanta is wrapped up," Harry tells him.

Louis nods, lying on his back again. "Okay."

**~*~**

They laze about at home, Harry saying he won't be needing to fly back to America until after forty-eight hours.

"You won't be working today?"

"No. I cancelled any and all appointments I have. Can't leave you even if I have to now, can I?" Harry chances a teasing smile his way, causing Louis to smile back.

"C'mere then," Louis opens his arms for Harry to get into. Harry complies, eager, and Louis thinks as he feels victorious, his Harry is slowly returning back to him.

So they cuddle, as easy as that.

Louis feels rather nostalgic almost right away, as he runs his wounded fingers through Harry's locks and caresses them against his cloaked palms. He's gonna miss them. Then again, he shouldn't really act unreasonably.

The room falls silent after some time. It's gone dimmed since Harry turned the lights off.

"So..." Harry begins to say. Louis hums under his breath, encouraging him to continue. "You really punched a guy for me then?" Harry murmurs out, shy.

Louis smiles. " _Oui, mon amour._  No one messes with my baby."

Harry turns his face to look at him. "I love you so much, Lou. I'm sorry for everything."

Louis blinks softly, enamored more than anything. "I love you so much, H," he murmurs back. Harry leans in just as Louis does the same, and they kiss, their lips fitting perfectly, slotting together like puzzle pieces.

When they part, Harry licks his lips. And he asks, concern lacing his tone of voice, "How's it gonna be then? With your hands...and painting."

Louis lets out a soft sigh. "We'll have to postpone it, I guess. They're going to need to adjust the schedule of the launch."

Harry nods, understanding. "Where are you at now? What kind of theme did you have for this?"

"That's the thing, Harry. I can't seem to think of one."

Harry has his eyebrows knotting in confusion. "What? But Lou, it's been a month."

"I know. I'm having a terrible time making something up. I can't— it's eating at me. I can only ever think of a concept when it was with you, as it is."

With that admission, Louis doesn't miss the way Harry blushes furiously. It's marvelous.

"Your team has fucked up," Harry declares, biting his lip.

"They surely did, doll," Louis agrees, nodding as he pulls off a smirk, which causes Harry's cheeks to even turn a lovelier shade of pink. And fuck, Louis is slapped with the truth of how exquisite and charming his Del Rey is, once again. He could've lost him all those weeks ago, but he didn't, lucky him.

"Hey, Lou?"

"Hmm?"

"Is Liam married? Or like, does he have anyone?"

Louis allows himself to chuckle, amused. "Let me guess. Asking on Zayn's behalf?"

"Or more like for his sake." Harry smirks. "He won't admit it, not to Niall, not to me, but it's pretty evident. Whenever Niall would tease him about Liam, Zayn would be all over the place, fumbling with his words and blushing. It's pretty cute."

"Ah, young love." Louis snorts. "Well, to answer that, Liam is single. Tell Zayn, if he wants we can arrange something."

At that, Harry pounces at him, and Louis instantly winces, feeling hurt. He's had it pretty bad then, from that brawl; he's got bruises and some cuts across his stomach and chest, unsure where he got those cuts. Harry doesn't seem to be noticing though for he keeps his palms flat on Louis' chest, and he's beaming is the thing, which has Louis softening as if the sight itself is a gift from heavens above. So he can't really complain, even if Harry's weight on his wounds is killing him. "Like a date?!" Harry guffaws and he's so adorable. He's like a happy kitten when he beams like this.

Louis laughs at his silliness. "Yes,  _mon petit_."

Then just like that, Harry's face is crumbling. And the next thing Louis knows is he's pouting. "That term of endearment," Harry scoffs.

"What, you mean 'mon petit'?"  _What's wrong with it?_

"Yes. What does that even mean? I heard that Eleanor girl calling you that..."

"Oh? She did? I didn't even notice." Louis chuckles. "Don't worry about her, babe. She's a colleague who's married with Nick's ex."

Harry's jaw drops. " _Our_  Nick?"

"Yes. Nick's ex, Max Hurd, hired Eleanor to be his assistant, while he and Nick were fooling around with each other. Max fell in love with Eleanor though, and fucked off with her. Eleanor didn't know however, she had absolutely no clue that Max was dicking Nick, so there's that. Basing on Nick's stories as of recent, I don't know if they divorced or whatever and well, I don't give a damn." Louis shrugs.

"Dicking," Harry says, giggling. Oh, the giggles are back. And so are the dimples.  _Progress!_ "That's fucked up," he comments.

"I know, but it is what it is."

Harry breaks into a grin, and then he's pulling Louis' shirt up, spreading his palms over Louis'  _It Is What It Is_  tattoo over his chest. "You're literally so hot, honey. Love your tattoos so much," he says in a hushed tone, pressing feather-light kisses all over the bruised parts of Louis' skin.

"Yeah?" Louis breathes out, feeling himself pooling from down there, getting quickly aroused just by those tiny contacts.

"Yeah," Harry confirms, and then he's resting his chin above Louis' stomach, peering up at him through that heavy-lidded gaze.

"Mind staying here for another night or so?" Louis asks then, breathy.

With a languid smile, Harry flashes those deep craters as he tells him, "Hell yeah."

**~*~**

Harry flies back to LA after two days, and Louis is left to deal with his team members to tell them all about what happened to him back in that nightclub. He was given a two weeks off because of that, and was instructed to rest properly to heal first. Louis is good with that and he thinks, maybe then at those times he can come visit Harry and stay with him, be the one staying in this time around while his baby works.

Then all by himself, he can come up with something following up the project—perhaps he can inspire himself outside of Paris.

" _Liam, on va en Amérique._  (Liam, we're going to America.)"

The man addressed like that blinks rapidly at him, dropping the paintbrushes he's clutching on for dear life as he and Louis work in silence in his studio.

Louis nods at him. " _Déjà en train de réserver_  (Already booking it)," he wiggles his brand new phone—one that he's bought yesterday when the topic of phones and promises to text again spilled from both he and Harry—to prove his point.

Liam is fish-mouthing, probably at loss for words, and Louis gets that sort of reaction. He'd probably be the same if he had a boss like himself too, always making some last minute decisions and dragging people with him anywhere, whenever he so pleases too, never taking no for an answer.

Louis dismisses the thought and just proceeds to tidy up the room with him, and then they're going home, texting Liam the details of their flight which will be first thing in the morning.

On the way to the airport the next day, Louis has the energy in him to watch one of Harry's most recent interviews, this time with Ryan Seacrest. It's a light one, funny and wholesome. Louis can't get enough of them. Thus even during the plane ride, he's still tuning in to his other interviews.

Once they land at LAX, Louis lets Liam hail a cab for them. It's Louis who states off the address to their home in Beverly Hills, and it's only a good hour ride before Louis is being welcomed by Valeria, she and Liam exchanging polite words to each other, the both highly trained employees of Louis who are very much professionals.

He shoots Harry a text just as he's ordered Valeria to take his luggage up to their room, can't really do so much with a pair of injured hands.  ** _Just reached. Home with Liam and Valeria . I love you ! xx_**

_**Be home soon, babe! I love you too..!! :D xx** _

Louis smiles down at the text, heart warming in an instant. He puts his phone away since he can't take any more of holding and clutching, and he pulls Liam with him as he offers that they have a chill night at the pool lounge. Liam goes along easily without much fight, and in an hour or so, they're by the pool chairs with some anti-mosquito lotions coating their legs and arms, and Louis is teasing Liam with Zayn as he tries and fails to carry around his favourite goblet that's filled with his favourite drink: red wine.

" _Que penses-tu de lui, Li ? Il est superbe, n'est-ce pas ?_ (What do you think of him, Li? He's gorgeous, isn't he?)"

" _Qui ?_ (Who?)" Liam outright pretends he doesn't know who Louis is talking about but, see, Louis is Satan. Liam ought to know.

" _Oh, tu sais, l'ami d'Harry. Celui recouvert de tatouages et de piercings, mâchoire coupante et d'éblouissant yeux bruns..._  (Oh, you know, Harry's friend. The one covered with tattoos and piercings, cutting jawline and dazzling brown eyes...)" Louis elaborates, just for the sake of poking fun of Liam's impending reaction, which would be far from his usual. " _Celui que je t'ai vu reluquer, Liam, tu ne t'en souviens plus ?_  (The one I've seen you ogling, Liam, can't remember anymore?)"

"Uh..."

" _D'accord_  (Alright)," Louis blows out a sigh, gaze lingering and scanning Liam's face, " _Je vais te dire son nom si tu ne peux pas t'en rappeler. Zayn Malik. Là. Ça te rappelle des souvenirs ?_ (I'll state his name if you can't remember. Zayn Malik. There. Ring any bells?)"

In lieu of wandering his eyes over Liam's squirming persona, he watches the way the man's naturally robotic and predictable mannerism wash away, and his usual puppy eyes are widening comically, matched with his pair of cheeks visibly turning red, vibrant and there, even under the weak lighting around the pool area, making Louis grin larger. Liam fumbles, and then he's taking a huge sip out of his glass of wine, before he's answering Louis' query, almost spitting some of his drink, " _L-lui... Je m'en maintenant. Oui, Lou, il l'est. Uhm. Très attirant, effectivement._  (H-Him... I remember now. Why yes, Lou, he is. Uhm. Very attractive, indeed.)"

Louis chuckles, feeling the adrenaline of success, rendering Liam into this blabber of mess. " _C'est ce que je pensais aussi._ (I thought so too.)"

Just as Liam is about to pout and protest at him, to which Louis is all ready to dodge and wave off, respectively, Louis is distracted by the sound of the sliding doors being pushed open, so his eyes dart to their direction, and—

"Honey, I'm home!" Harry calls throughout the eerily quiet area, his voice laced with mischief, and Louis almost chokes on air the moment he sees him, because holy fuck.

"Baby?" Louis squeaks out, baffled.

"Hiii," comes the drawl, ever the enthusiastic and hyper out of everyone.

Louis blinks, and he lets this new look on his fiance sink in his head.

Harry's come home with a new haircut, his long hair truly and utterly history now, and as he walks towards them with that lazy albeit easy stride, that sort of light aura he's bringing all around him brightening up the once dead room, Louis finds it hard for him to focus.

It's as if things are happening all around him all at once. Liam is greeting Harry, Harry is greeting Liam back, Harry is turning to peck his lips next, and Louis is...he's just feeling out of it and, conceivably, even looking out of it too.

"Your hair," he says dumbly.

Harry appears self-conscious instantaneously when he mentions it, and he runs a hand through his locks, the short tufts of them, curls all gone, making him all boyish and quite... handsomely pretty. Strangely, oddly, exquisite. "Is it that bad?" Harry mutters then, shyly, cheeks a faint rosy.

And,  _is it even a tiny fraction bad?_  Not even close, what the fuck. Louis didn't think of what he'd expect, but out of everything, he did  _not_  expect Harry to look like this.

"No," Louis exhales, "no, baby. It's—you..."

"Lou, what..."

Louis puts his hands over his face, and he groans. "Fuck, I just want to paint you even more now."

"Oh, dear..." He hears Liam mumble in the background.

Louis removes his hands from his face. "Oh fucking dear," he echoes back.

Harry grins at them, a hand on his hip, winking cheekily. "Oops?" Damn it. He's so going to be the death of Louis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback? :D

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always a plus ;) thanks so much for reading X
> 
> come say hi, i'm punkdaddylouis on tumblr!


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